7°C (44.6°F) Weightless. The word sounds much better than it looks. All those silent consonants appear ungainly, but listen
to it, and it takes you inside the experience:
‘w’ - a soft beginning…
  ’eigh’ - a deep, open breath…
    ’t’ - a tight inflection…
      ’l’ - a gentle push…
        ’ess’ - and an effortless release.
At least that’s how it feels when I lift off in a dream.
I watched a single cloud, closely, as its edges unfurled and curled in upon themselves - a hypnotic, fluid motion. At a distance it seemed so placid, so substantial, but up close it was neither: ethereal turbulence.
Earlier, a pair of hawks circled easily (plenty of updrafts over splotchy snow). Backlit by the sun, their bodies burned red inside glowing white nimbi
of feathers, weightless. Â
