It’s only weather
It comes.
It goes.
It’s only winds
rocking the trees
making the great lodgepoles sway like grasses
It’s only rains
pounding cold against the window.
It’s only a stubbornly gray sky
hiding the sun.
It’s only the weather that has me
missing you until my bones ache from it.
It comes.
It goes.
It’s only weather. sgf///8/8/15
The fog is so thick over the lake this morning that you can’t tell there is a lake or even a lakeshore there. Just a soupy bank of gray cloud below the rim of the caldera. It’s clear here in the campground, or rather the clouds are overhead rather than at ground level. It makes for a beautiful, though eerie, scene.
Every day is different here. Every hour. Two hours later, the fog is completely gone, the lake is calm and glassy, reflecting a blue blue sky with puffy white clouds moving quickly before the sun evaporates them.
I suppose it’s that way everywhere. It just becomes more obvious when you are in such a beautiful place, without all the other stuff that usually gets your (my) attention: TV, telephone, internet, work, worry, etc. I find myself, in the early morning or late afternoon (when I am not working), just sitting in front of my window facing the forest on the edge of the lake. I sit and watch whatever is happening right there in the real world. Chipmunks, squirrels, weasels, ravens, jays…
I hear the Presidential Primary debates have begun. sgf///8/9/15
