The rain was crashing on the roof last night. Between the intermittent downpours and high altitude dreams, I didn’t seep very well. Morning was a nice escape from the vivid stories my brain was feeding me all night to stay entertained. At 5900 feet I could write a few books a night, if I kept a dream journal. The fire was lit and the smell of coffee in the air. My only hope, I wasn’t still dreaming.
My Dad made a comment on my hair, somewhere along the lines of being combed with a claymore, the mine, not the sword, but either would suffice, I guess. It was accurate. I was awake. I took the shot above, just as the tail part of this storm was coming through. The peaks just above us were getting dusted with snow. It was around 40 degrees out and I took my socks off so they wouldn’t get soaked in the grass. Coming from 90 degrees in Hollywood, it was cold.
A rainbow had touched down to the South-West as the screech of a bald eagle echoed in the valley. He and it’s mate were riding the updraft coming off the hill just below the trees in the photo above. Unfortunately my 16mm lens only turns them from a speck to a dot when I zoom in on my computer. That’s why I love this place. You can only experience it one way, in person. So many amazing photographers have captured this land, but you never get the full effect until you’re standing in the field, freezing your naked toes off, as the droplets from the edge of an oncoming cloud are hitting your lens. It’s perfect.