sigh
chant mistress
- Joined
- Sep 19, 2001
- Posts
- 10,248
A couple of weeks ago I took a drive on the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina. I was alone for once, my son being under the care of loved ones, and the day was bright and cool. The Parkway is a beautiful road, all twists and turns and hills, a two-lane wonder with a top speed of 45 and breathtaking vistas at every curve.
I was north of Asheville, having stopped at the craft guild there, and came across a side spur that led to a promising spot named Craggy Garden. On a whim (it was a day of whims) I pulled left and headed up. I might have gone a mile or so, all uphill, when I emerged into a little park. It turned out to be no more than a few dozen picnic tables, a set of real flush bathrooms (which I gratefully visited) and a trailhead that led off somewhere I didn't bother to follow.
The fact is, the little park where I found myself was something of a disappointment. The most promising area, with the best view of the surrounding mountains, had been paved for parking. I needed a stretch though, and since the park was deserted except for me I decided to wander along the asphalt for a bit.
And eventually, I looked up.
I was probably about a mile high, pretty far up for a girl from the flatlands, and instantly I was astounded by how close the clouds seemed to be. They were the big fluffy kind, bright white at the tops but with some sporting the dark bottoms that promise rain, and they seemed to be just out of reach of my outstreched hand. I saw in them details I'd never seen in clouds before, curves and shadows that stripped away the two-dimensional qualities they have when seen from a distance and gave them a solidity and texture that I found captivating.
I noticed a half dozen wide-winged birds riding thermals up to meet the clouds and I found myself envious of their ability. I wanted so much to become enveloped in the fluff of clouds just once.
Then I noticed a peak very near to me and only a couple of hundred feet higher than I was, and the tip of that peak was slowly disappearing into the hugest clould I'd yet seen. The cloud was the whitest white at the top and sides but with a bottom that was nearly black and I was mesmerized as this gigantic thing of contrasts engulfed the mountaintop, then slowly began rolling down the mountain's near side to me.
I dropped to my butt in a lotus right there on the pavement, utterly lost in the spectacle, and waited for its arrival.
I'm not sure how long it took, but it wasn't more than a quarter or maybe half an hour before the mists began to hide the tables at the very edge of the park. Then the edge of the parking lot began to grow fuzzy and I could look straight up along the edge of a cloud, the first time I've ever done that, and it was a sight to thrill. A minute later a layer of mist was floating along at my sides and gradually (very, very gradually) everything became more and more fuzzy and indistinct until I was struck with a clarity of thought that got me to chuckling softly to myself.
Back home, we call being inside a cloud fog.
It was a bitch driving down off that mountain, barely able to see, but you know I don't regret that at all. Here in Illinois fog rises out of the river valleys mostly, but there in North Carolina I was touched by a cloud.
There's something different about it. I can't explain what, but I feel better for having done it.
There's no need to respond to this, by the way. It's just something I felt like writing.
I was north of Asheville, having stopped at the craft guild there, and came across a side spur that led to a promising spot named Craggy Garden. On a whim (it was a day of whims) I pulled left and headed up. I might have gone a mile or so, all uphill, when I emerged into a little park. It turned out to be no more than a few dozen picnic tables, a set of real flush bathrooms (which I gratefully visited) and a trailhead that led off somewhere I didn't bother to follow.
The fact is, the little park where I found myself was something of a disappointment. The most promising area, with the best view of the surrounding mountains, had been paved for parking. I needed a stretch though, and since the park was deserted except for me I decided to wander along the asphalt for a bit.
And eventually, I looked up.
I was probably about a mile high, pretty far up for a girl from the flatlands, and instantly I was astounded by how close the clouds seemed to be. They were the big fluffy kind, bright white at the tops but with some sporting the dark bottoms that promise rain, and they seemed to be just out of reach of my outstreched hand. I saw in them details I'd never seen in clouds before, curves and shadows that stripped away the two-dimensional qualities they have when seen from a distance and gave them a solidity and texture that I found captivating.
I noticed a half dozen wide-winged birds riding thermals up to meet the clouds and I found myself envious of their ability. I wanted so much to become enveloped in the fluff of clouds just once.
Then I noticed a peak very near to me and only a couple of hundred feet higher than I was, and the tip of that peak was slowly disappearing into the hugest clould I'd yet seen. The cloud was the whitest white at the top and sides but with a bottom that was nearly black and I was mesmerized as this gigantic thing of contrasts engulfed the mountaintop, then slowly began rolling down the mountain's near side to me.
I dropped to my butt in a lotus right there on the pavement, utterly lost in the spectacle, and waited for its arrival.
I'm not sure how long it took, but it wasn't more than a quarter or maybe half an hour before the mists began to hide the tables at the very edge of the park. Then the edge of the parking lot began to grow fuzzy and I could look straight up along the edge of a cloud, the first time I've ever done that, and it was a sight to thrill. A minute later a layer of mist was floating along at my sides and gradually (very, very gradually) everything became more and more fuzzy and indistinct until I was struck with a clarity of thought that got me to chuckling softly to myself.
Back home, we call being inside a cloud fog.
It was a bitch driving down off that mountain, barely able to see, but you know I don't regret that at all. Here in Illinois fog rises out of the river valleys mostly, but there in North Carolina I was touched by a cloud.
There's something different about it. I can't explain what, but I feel better for having done it.
There's no need to respond to this, by the way. It's just something I felt like writing.
