The Tempest Raging Above

The leaves are long gone. Skeletal trees rattle in bone-chilling gusts. My grass is smothered by a foot of snow. Everything is lost in black and white.

The world is dull. Dreary. Lifeless.

Unless you look up.

Winter is the time that the skies come alive. Now you can see it. It has many moods, all of them interesting.

Anyone who knows me, knows I have a little photographic problem. I can't stop. I love snapping pictures, especially of the sky. It's a beast. It's a lamb. It's full of passion, affecting and reflecting off the world below.

In the last two weeks, these are the skies I've collected. (Be ye therefore warned. I tend to wax poetic.)

1. The hunter. Silently closing in. Fog creeps along the  ground. The sun struggles to break free, peeking through, first muted, then bursting out, then hidden again. And cold, eeking icy particles that climb your spine, sinking into bones until you have no choice but to quiver.

2. Anger. Heavy. Pewter fingers jabbing over the sky. Closing off light, which breaks loose, ringing the enemy in triumphant glory.

3. Gentle. Soft as a lullaby. Caresses of powder-blue and delicate pink.

4. Love. Sinking. Purple and pink, shyly smiling.

5. Joy. Leaping off mountain faces into clouds spinning upward, soaring heavenward with outstretched wings.

6. Boldness. See. Here is a mountain. You may NOT look away.

7. Peace. A deep sigh at the close of evening.

8. Strength. Like trees, always reaching, knowing that some day soon they'll flourish again. Any hour the snow will melt. Any moment the sun with shine through. And reveal us. Still standing, but on purpose. With a smile.

I know.

It drives my kids crazy, too.

Have a great day, and I dare you NOT to look up.