When I was little, my grandpa taught me how to read the natural world. At the age of 6, I “knew” how to tell apart poisonous from non-poisonous mushrooms, how to make a bow and arrow from a stick, string, and fern stalks. I still say that feathery, streaky clouds in the sky mean the weather will change in two days. Not for better, or for worse, just change. From the doorstep perch of my indefinite wait for the bus, I wonder if the same meteorological rules apply here on the bottom half of the earth, or if I will have to start from scratch.