The real cloud was smaller and more of a whispy orb maybe the size of a short school bus. It hovered closely to the peak of the ridge. The Loneliest Road in America (with so-so small lightning cloud recreation). The lightning orb blasted the ridge repeatedly, almost punishingly, kicking up dust and rocks with each strike. It puzzled me how a cloud so small could keep firing lightning strike after lightning strike. I imagined it carried a grudge against, I don't know, the wor