“Have you ever traveled to where snow is made,seen the vault where hail is stockpiled,The arsenals of hail and snow that I keep in readinessfor times of trouble and battle and war?Can you find your way to where lightning is launched,or to the place from which the wind blows?Who do you suppose carves canyonsfor the downpours of rain, and chartsthe route of thunderstormsThat bring water to unvisited fields,deserts no one ever lays eyes on,Drenching the useless wastelandsso they’re carpeted with wildflowers and grass?And who do you think is the father of rain and dew,the mother of ice and frost?You don’t for a minute imaginethese marvels of weather just happen, do you?