The Cloud Maker
The sun is already rearing it’s tentacles like crazy. There’s something so beautiful about waking up early in the morning fully dressed. Dreaming with your boots on, a surprising
recipe for good dreams. I took the chance of stepping out in 12º to shoot with a good friend’s camera. I walked to one of my favorite spots, a knoll from which I can overlook a baseball field and part of the Southern Appalachians Mountains. As I kept focused on playing with the camera it seemed as if my hands weren’t as icy, like the art of playing would push the cold out.
Once I stopped taking photographs the cold clawed back in. I only had a limited amount of time before my hands couldn’t tolerate being outside despite being in my favorite
cheap cotton gloves. I pushed.
Twenty minutes into the cold, I couldn’t help but see what was out and alive, and while I was mesmerized by the small streaks of light snow all around me, the hot air balloon far away into the horizon, and the now formidable glow of sunlight bathing on our planet, a neighbor’s roof was coughing. I had only a slight chance to catch what it was churning, and lo and behold there was my cloud maker. Dark, unyielding, utilizing fertilized bad
breath to cough out these puffy clouds, full and ready to grow on their way up, to join the rest of their rather, big family.