Full of Swit

Clouds rise and grow, falter and fall. Fuzz out. Dominant cell peeks his head out from the pit. Forced by the atmosphere to disappear. Hazy lines moving west. Fog rushing inland plugging up all the holes that bear sunlight. Crispness in the distance. Can it hold its ground? The horizon is now filled with cumulus in varying stages of growth. Garden variety. The seeds abide.


 The sun gives off much more heat than the body feels. In sitting still, we feel it land on our skin and seep into our bones. This is where the scales of winter are shed. We are reborn. The answers are there, clearly, in the sky.

 An aggressive tower forms and thrusts into the big blue. In defiance of the contagious but inevitable fuzziness. It collapses twice more before it is absorbed into a larger mass of water droplets and afternoon sunshine.

 We wait. How much of life is spent at red lights? A lady in a driving instructor vehicle, crying. An older lady across from us is grinning from ear to ear. Traffic passes and we pay no mind. It is a blur of metal, plastic, glass and weary souls.

 Second Big Wreck song of the day. Both from the same album. Always reminds me of watching skiers dance down Poley Mountain. Wondering, wishing, longing for some kind of in your face freedom. Bikes abound as the day reaches 16C inland.