September 18, 2003 ~ High Winds

Thursday.

I had just sat down to write this entry when the sun started to set. After a few minutes, I knew that I simply must go out and watch it in its entirety. It was going to be amazing. Hurricane Isabella hit the North Carolina coast this afternoon. It has been causing chaos there, but here in the mountains its effect has been pure heaven. Strong gusty winds have cleared away the haze, and they are pushing light fluffy clouds across the sky at a fast clip.

"Melissa! It's so weird looking. And so beautiful," said my elderly neighbor from her porch as I stepped out on my porch. I smiled and agreed. The West was on fire, red and an orange too bright to look natural. The blue sky in between was a vivid clear blue, and the clouds twirled toward the horizon. The colors spread across the entire sky. I realized that I was wearing a huge grin, and it still hasn't gone away.

This week has been hikes up Jones Mountain, long letters, phone conversations, chilly morning drives. I'm making plans for a several-day-long backpacking trip come mid-October. Probably in Pisgah National Forest. Alone. I believe I'm ready.

On Sunday, Morgan and I headed up to the Parkway, took a hike along a mountainside, then watched a much more subtle sunset over an overlook as he played his bamboo flute.

As the stars came out, we sat together, he cross-legged, me cocooning him from behind, my cheek against his hair. Whispering in his ear, holding.

Backpacking alone will be a wonderful challenge, but I wish that he could come with me.

Footnotes:

weather: Cool wind.

writing focus: Letters.

observation: Foggy mornings, the calls of crows.

cooking: Stuffed acorn squash.

historical diary: "Dr. Bartlet handed me a paper to-day, desiring me to subscribe for a statue to Horace Mann. I declined, and said that I thought a man ought not any more to take up room in the world after he was dead. We shall loose one advantage of a man's dying if we are to have a statue of him forthwith." ~ from Henry David Thoreau's diary, September 18, 1859.

online journals:

"When all else fails, turn to science and record some data. So we counted. Between us and the highway, where we had a light sky background, we counted 50 dragonflies passing by in exactly 60 seconds. Almost a dragonfly per second."

~ Grouse in this entry of Grousin' in the Sage.

"It's not often that I can compose myself enough to say all that I did.. usually I get pissed, clam up, and walk away. What he said hit that dark chord deep down.. that one that makes me see red, and sets my mouth in motion as fast as my brain can process new thoughts."

~ Alicia in this entry of Supposedly Sane.

"Still, it's kind of cool to wander out back and pick a handful of grapes off my own vines. Refreshing from a political and environmental standpoint as well. No worries about pesticides. No guilt about abused farm workers. It's a sad commentary on the world that GRAPES have emotional baggage."

~ L.A. in this entry of LA the Sage.

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