ow from mere
points, and fly high above the canyon, yet following its course for a
long time, noiseless, as if hunting, then suddenly darting lightning at
unseen marks, and hurrying on. Or they loiter here and there as if idle,
like laborers out of work, waiting to be hired.

Half a dozen or more showers may oftentimes be seen falling at once,
while far the greater part of the sky is in sunshine, and not a raindrop
comes nigh one. These thundershowers from as many separate clouds,
looking like wisps of long hair, may vary greatly in effects. The
pale, faint streaks are showers that fail to reach the ground, being
evaporated on the way down through the dry, thirsty air, like streams
in deserts. Many, on the other hand, which in the distance seem
insignificant, are really heavy rain, however local; these are the gray
wisps well zigzagged with lightning. The darker ones are torrent rain,
which on broad, steep slopes of favorable conformation give rise to
so-called "cloudbursts"; and wonderful is the commotion they cause. The
gorges and gulches below them, usually dry, break out in loud uproar,
with a sudden downrush of muddy, boulder-laden floods. Down they all go
in one simultaneous gush, roaring like lions rudely awakened, each of
the tawny brood actually kicking up a dust at the first onset.

During the winter months snow falls over all the high plateau, usually
to a considerable depth, whitening the rim and the roofs of the canyon
buildings. But last winter, when I arrived at Bright Angel in the middle
of January, there was no snow in sight, and the ground was dry, greatly
to my disappointment, for I had made the trip mainly to see the
canyon in its winter garb. Soothingly I was informed that this was an
exceptional season, and that the good snow might arrive at any time.
After waiting a few days, I gladly hailed a broad-browed cloud coming
grandly on from the west in big promising blackness, very unlike the
white sailors of the summer skies. Under the lee of a rim-ledge, with
another snow-lover, I watched its movements as it took possession of the
canyon and all the adjacent region in sight. Trailing its gray fringes
over the spiry tops of the great temples and towers, it gradually
settled lower, embracing them all with ineffable kindness and gentleness
of touch, and fondled the little cedars and pines as they quivered
eagerly in the wind like young birds begging their mothers to feed them.
The first flakes and cryst