Creating With My Head In the Clouds

I've had a real thing for taking pictures of clouds lately.  I've always stared at them, beautiful and fluffy or dark, ominous and wall-like.  I used to have a real problem in high school with staring out the windows and looking at clouds.  Staring out into space continues to be a problem for me.  When I am having a conversation it is incredibly difficult for me to keep eye contact with my fellow conversationalist.  Not because I am uninterested, but because my eyes just want to go everywhere and most notably skyward.  What is it that puts these things together, forms them and moves them along, I wonder?  I understand the science and meteorology behind it somewhat, but I mean the whole creative process that went into designing the whole production.
When my wife Rhonda and I were on a second honeymoon in the Bahamas many years ago, a ferry boat took us out to a small private island owned by the cruise line.  When we got there we quickly went to the beach area which was beautifully filled with white sand with green/blue water all around.  As I looked to the sky, it was a deep blue everywhere, except in this tiny corner to the Northwest.  In that corner was a wind shift line, that was ever so slowly producing a fine white cloud, almost as though it was coming out of the chimney of an old steam locomotive.  It started as a wisp, filled out into a fluffy cloud, and then in the middle of the ocean formed a tiny rain cloud that fizzled itself out, only to continue to produce new clouds in the very same spot.
Clouds to me have both great order to the underlying process and yet chaos in their actual creation.  Their artistry shown in peace and tranquility and violent storm.  They pop up to tell the tale of the moment and don't hide their joy or anger.  They are simply honest art and speak volumes of how heartfelt art, art that worships should be created.