There! No, it's gone.

While I powered east at about 60 miles per hour this morning, a long bank of dark clouds rose before me, growing more and more ominous.

Whether these foreboding monsters were already in Walla Walla performing mischief and waiting for me, or whether were to collide inside the city limits after arriving at about the same time, it appeared inevitable that I was in for a dowsing.

I love clouds. Southern California is typically either clear as a bell or completely overcast. When the overcast does break up, the tattered rags of white moisture hardly deserve the title when compared to the much more substantive cumulus beauties that populate the plains and midwestern states.

Even the brand names point to a disparity. The California crop is "cirrus," but such wimpy leftovers are not to be taken seriously. While "cumulus" means "heap," "cirrus," translated, is "curl of hair."

Meteorologists can distinguish between types of clouds with ease; but they're not much better at predicting which of them will drop their wet loads, or where than the rest of us.

My cloud bank seemed to be stuck on something out east of town. Maybe clear weather later in the week will reveal a mountain range or other obstruction that held the long row of dark grey billows at bay. Though the clouds appearance didn't change appreciably throughout the day, when the sun shineed in town, the forecast seemed brighter and vice-versa.

In the context of my travels, I wonder if it's correct to say, "there was no storm today?"

After all, I had a choice in the matter. I could have sallied forth, moving under the dark canopy. There, I suspect, I would have encountered rain and wind and colder temperatures.

What is the duty of a wanderer? To responsibly avoid storms, thus diminishing the range of experience? Or to race headlong toward a sea of cumulo-nimbi and, by embracing them, to discover the sound and fury of mother nature at work?

Walla Walla and I remained dry today, the clouds moved laterally, from north to south and, while skies in town ranged from partly cloudy to almost overcast, the dark, forbiding monsters kept their distance.

It was my storm for the taking and I chose to stand my ground -- dry ground.

Another time, Mother. Perhaps another time.