How often does my family hear me exclaim, catching my breath, "That sky," then reaffirm my affection for the August clouds? Often. Yesterday, in fact. The clouds in August are a show, a panorama of nature's prowess and majesty. The thunderheads are like distant beacons, over the foothills and mountains, captivating from afar, and to stand beneath them... riveting, terrifying, wonderful. It's almost enough to recall, or imagine, standing in a summer storm. It's better still to follow those beacons, and be there, again, where the air is impassioned, and water drops heavily, loosened from a torn sky, making dusty sage and buckwheat smell sweet and smoky, like hot honey. Oh, yes. I love that August sky.