Tempest 08.19.05

The evening was still hot and the climb to the top was steady, suddenly the wind whipped and the desert gave itself up. The sky had turned angry, with dark and threatening skies, while the sun had the sky glowing as it set in the west. At the top of the mountain the wind was so strong you had to sit or be spirited over the edge by a sudden gust of air.

Making my way down the mountain the wind talked at my back and the grass dry from the unforgiving sun whispered at my feet. In the east the moon hung there like a large saffron colored crayon, with threads of dark sky caressing it. While my headlamp lit the shadows making the way for my steps, the spirits spoke in whispered tones and whipped my hair around like an angry tempest.