On the ground, the air was relatively calm, almost eerily so. Most of the time it’s windy at the cabin, especially in winter, so when the trees are standing still, it feels like something is amiss: that the ponderosas and aspens are just poised for another round of bad news.
The sky told told its own story—one of turbulence. Not only were the clouds streaming across the sky, they were being stretched and pulled like taffy, leaving strange formations I couldn’t quite make sense of: large quotation marks, oversized hats, flying saucers, lines of white birds with wings outstretched, and dolphins, sharks and turtles chasing each other across the blue sky.
These were not roiling summer cumulus but horizontal winter lenticulars with a mass of contradictions: dark grey and pure whites, definable shapes and ethereal wisps. It was pure chaos, and my head was spinning to keep up with the constant movement.
The energy of the heavens felt palpable, and I wished I were one of the ravens I see flying above Meeker Park, able to leave this solid ground and dance among the clouds. But I’m down here with the pines and aspens, their roots sunk into the ground, just as surely as gravity keeps my feet on the forest floor. When the wind descends, the trees roll and shake, before it pulls back up into the higher altitudes.
I may be rooted to the earth, but I’m keeping my eyes to the sky.
You evoke that crazy sky energy so well. I feel like I'm standing there with you, my feet rooted to earth as the sky heaves and swirls.
Posted by: Julene Bair | December 18, 2018 at 04:56 PM