"I have explored the clouds,"

mused The Great Master of Profound Thought,

"but my theories remain intangible mists of conjecture.

What is it that I am missing?

What is it that would make a difference?"

Meanwhile, the eager student, with rain cap in hand,

danced about like a frantic squirrel with a prized nut,

admonishing, protesting, railing in high gear:

"You're gonna get wet!

You're gonna get sogged to the bone!

You're gonna shiver up and die!"

The Great Master of Profound Thought

reached out an absent minded hand,

then paused, stilled.

His fingers drifted awkwardly in vacant space

one moment... two... three... 

and then a smile crinkled.

The arm repurposed forward and soon proffered cap

was firmly grasped and smoothed carefully down, over,

and around the now noticeably icy pate.

Warmth ensued.

Air thickened.

Mist condensed. 

Clouds shifted and rain pelted down.

"Ahhh," nodded The Great Master.

"The downpour begins.

Substance at last."