With every full-stretch stride, she ascends adeptly into the cloud. Serenely seeking what treasures wait within, she spots a spirit standing silently. 

“Papa,” she says, “look, do you think it’s scary?” 

Shrouded in shadows, the specter is still but suddenly deep and wild wooshing rips through the trees, and drops of rain begin to plummet. 

First, two, three, four a countable number, and then the cloud cascades down an infinite sheet of moisture. She patiently pulls out her jacket, calmly unfurls it, and slips it on with the hood last as is her habit. 

With one last glance back at the presence she shrugs and with solemn steps declares for the descent back down. 

Legs leaden, stomach empty, senses full.