In the wind.

I was thinking that just for fun, I would post a picture of the beach, and people parading about in scanty outfits.
Or I could post a photo of the nutcake across the street who just popped out to her car in SHORTS.
Well, it HAS warmed up since -6F early this morning. It is a BALMY 19. So I guess shorts might be appropriate.
If you're a NUT.
Anyhow, I left the studio at noon. Not my usual. Sometimes you just have those days.

Although, I must admit that it is a scenic and sunny day.

From Crazy as a Loom

Just not my best day.

The house is quiet. My 12 year old pit bull is asleep near me, on the chaise lounge (you didn't think he would be on the floor, did you?) in the sun.
My mother is napping in her part of the house.
If you didn't know better, and just closed your eyes, and let the sun pour through the window onto your face, you could imagine that it wasn't really bitter cold outside.

I am nostalgic of late. More so than usual.

I have been thinking of times gone by, people with us no more. My dreams are ever changing pictures from an old camera; not always clear, not always labeled.
In one nighttime excursion, I was 11 again, and back on the mountain, behind my childhood home. Once again, I was clinging to the railing on the light tower, wondering why I was up there in the first place. My cousin, more my brother, a day older than I, had urged and pleaded, cajoled and whined, until I relented, and followed him, slowly, terrified, up the ladder. We were surrounded by treetops. Off in the distance, I could see the top of Mt Defiance, and the log building that was the gift shop. But it was far away. The wind pushed at me, and just as I struggled to the platform on top, I realized that the tower was swaying back and forth, lurching a bit further each time.
I turned to see Billy, with a maniacal grin, throwing his weight against the rails, making the whole tower feel like a willow bending to the gusty wind. I screamed at him to stop. He just laughed. I clutched the metal piping, and closed my eyes. My stomach rolled.
Eventually he grew tired, and paused. I threw my legs over the edge, felt for the ladder rung, and went down a lot faster than I had gone up. My legs felt weak, but I managed to get on the ground, and when I did, I turned and ran, yelling over my shoulder. "I hate you, I hate you."
I ran all the way down the mountain, and all the way home.
He called after me to stop. He asked me to wait for him.
But I wouldn't listen.

Five years ago, he climbed that ladder, one last time. I couldn't go with him.
And somewhere he is laughing, and swaying, and yelling into the wind.
I hope he knows how much I love him.