Clear
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.