When I was little, I would sit in my sandbox and scream at the sun.
Yes, I was bossy and probably somewhat annoying. I've heard I was kind of cute, so this mitigating factor excuses my erratic behavior. My six year old brain had delusions of grandeur that included control over celestial bodies.
The sun would dart behind a cloud, or two or three and I objected to this. Actually, I was offended. Didn't the sun know that I was sitting in my sandbox with my front-end loader, a shovel and my pail? My brother was taking a nap and the entire expanse of warm sand was all mine. So I would bellow:
"SUN COME OUT!"
Invariably the wind would blow, this way or that, and sure enough, that sun would obey and come out.
Until the wind would blow again, this way or that, and sure enough, it went away again.
Was my work ever finished? Criminey! Dagnabit! If you can't count on the sun, what can you count on? It was my six year old self's job to keep that sun out so that I didn't freeze in the shade. (Even then, it was all about me.)
As a big person with kids and no sandbox I don't have occasion to scream at the sun. I might get locked up. Every time it darts behind a cloud, the six year old self hollers silently to no one in particular:
SUN COME OUT!