This morning it was raining hard and long and when it cleared it was fresh for a moment. And then the afternoon brought heavy black clouds. The sky was hazy, dizzying, frenzied. It was a day of many seasons all packed into one exploding burst of magentas, crimson reds, deep purples, little pieces flying around. Why can’t it be like a smooth slide, silver and white, swirling up and out, with no obstacles to obstruct the journey? At moments it’s cold and shivery and at others hot like a boiling fire at a campsite, crackling wood, smoke that begins in a small steady stream and then gets into the lungs and makes you heave. Of course no journey goes in a straight line, instead it zigs and zags, stops and starts; there is beauty to be found in the dark sheets of—a beauty to the delicate balance of the many seasons colliding and what each has to offer, what each has to teach.
Tomorrow’s forecast: Partly cloudy with lots of sunshine breaking through.