At The Edge Of Clouds

There is a border, at the edge of clouds,
where rain begins and ends. A quantum state,
of uncertain clime, in which weather is
the least of woes. Beneath umbrellas - or
are they parasols? - there are figures bound
for some place else; for goals as ill defined
as seasons: Home is meant to shelter them,
but roofs conceal and walls constrain far more
than they protect, while doors and windows may
be opened to the elements. There are
charts; there are lines and symbols - statistics
and chaotic models - yet none predict
who will choose to get their faces wet, nor
who will shrink from rain, dry up and wither.