I took today’s photograph in 2014, as I stood atop Bald Rock Mountain at Bald Rock Heritage Preserve in SC. That blue mountain you see is Paris Mountain. That mountain-sized fluffy cloud you see does not have a name, as far as I know. But it is certainly impressive, looking bluish gray in this photo, partly because what you see is the shadow side of the cloud, and partly because I probably increased the saturation a bit to get the colors to pop, and the natural blue in the cloud became more pronounced.
Read MoreThe Rising Fog Knows All
on chilly nights the hills at rest
keep secrets known by few
the calling crow
the stalking fox
the shivering morning dew
Gratitude at Altitude
When you look past hard rock
On that cold mountaintop
When you look past those hills
And the valleys below
They Dance Til Dawn
high atop bald rock mountain
where the air is cool
where the vista is vast but unseen
except by wide-eye owls
who know how to keep a secret
where the night is silent
where the sky is clear and dark
except for a silvery moon
except for the twinkling stars
Crashing Waves
Yesterday evening, as the sun was setting, the water was easy to navigate, its soft rolling waves giving no concern to a seasoned boat captain, like me. My boat may be small, but it has traversed these waters from the island back to the mainland on dozens of trips without incident.
It was time to pick up another month’s supplies. I do it twelve times a year; could do it with my eyes closed; no reason to think of potential danger out on that water. I tied up to the dock and headed toward town. I picked up my check at the post office, collected some of my supplies, and spent most of the night having a little fun. Okay, I might have gotten a bit drunk, played a little poker, and lost my limit. I got a limit; I ain’t no idiot. I did get in a fight; beat the crap out of that guy. But he knew he was in the wrong and didn’t say nothing to nobody. If I’da been cheating, I’da been winning (at least, as far as he knew).
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