I rise when given the opportunity, though in the upper atmosphere you won’t find much of me. Both too much and too little can quickly prove fatal, but I am always in all places, even if just faint traces. What am I?

I'm by design a sign of turbulence, though often symmetrical. I raise your arms in patterns, yet am found in the mathematical.

I have a blade, but I'm always getting cut. Those who see the aftermath are often brought to tears. And yet, people mention me when they talk of better lives.

If you rile me up, I'll go and see red, but despite the old saying, I quite lightly tread. You might find me in fields, or in your local dive - the only thing is, there I'm not really alive.

The beauty of the storm, The art of the war. After the wet will I take form, and my radiance is something you can’t ignore. A glorious phenomenon for all to see, a beautiful promise to you and me.