As my old-timer dad used to say "Colder than a witches tit" out here in the wind on top of the mountain last night. I watched the storm come Racing up the gorge far below, blowing streams of fog up the river and right up the hill at me and the trees were swaying in the wind and the wind was howling. Just a few raindrops at sunset though but they were giant raindrops three of them covered my lens. Hard to do any kind of justice of an event like this with the camera. Some things are just meant to be felt, to be witnesses.
As I left the hill last night there were a few snowflakes mixed with rain. This morning I look up from below and see a thin white blanket on the upper slopes.
Sometimes standing out on a hill in a fierce wind I imagine I can feel the wind through my fingertips as though they were Eagles wings
When I was a child my mother said I would stand on her lap by the open car window with my face in the wind, just happy.
I have always liked those Exhilarating kind of storms that blow through fast and capricious and I often would stand out in the wind Letting it blow through me as though it was cleaning out any shadows in my mind. Such capricious winds recharge me and make me feel so alive and alert, tingling to my fingertips.
Sometimes standing out on a hill I imagine I can feel the wind through my fingertips as though they were Eagles wings
Shall we go spin like tops in the wind Holding hands and laughing while our hair flies behind us?
And ride wild horses galloping across the hills, and Soaring On the wings of Eagles full of joy just being alive,
Above all the cares and worries of the world .
