Good morning, Gentle Readers!
While the image immediately over us isn't exactly what my husband and I saw coming home Sunday night, it is a reasonable facsimile thereof. In a way, it was eerie watching the sky light up, and watching the mist roll off the roads like the ghosts of rivers past. At times, it almost seemed to boil. At other times, it looked solid enough that one could just about go kayaking in it. I was pretty pragmatic about keeping an eye on the sky: The National Weather Service had put out a warning about that especial storm. But the fog where the hot asphalt met the cold rain was a perfect playground for the imagination.
The image at the top is something I drew this morning while thinking of my grandmother. She may never see it, but now there are Trails to the Sky for her.
Until we meet, Gentle Readers.
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