Cloudland

My line of descent is tentative and wary. The damage to thumb and wrist from a crash, now a month and a half in the past, has been slow to heal and the steepness of the grade, the looseness of the trail surface exerts extra and unwanted strain. It is a pain that could be avoided if I simply kept to the road; it is not the pavement itself that seems to cause a problem, but rather the way the bars are gripped. The extra wrist twist of the flat bars on the mountain bike seem to be the source of the aggravation. Not that the trail surface helps matters, mind you. Recent rains seems to have washed some of the soil away, exposing more rocks than ever. Normal, relatively, bump-free lines are anything but now.

Then there are the clouds. They are just a complete distraction this morning, swaying my eyes to wander away from the task in front of my wheel. Unlike the white rabbit (seriously) that darted out of the way as I careened down-trail into the Jungle, the movement of the clouds proved to be other than fleeting. Their masses seemed to slowly rearrange, and each time I chanced a glance their way revealed altered forms, shifting shapes.

Yes, the clouds were the main attraction this day. Bonus points to whoever can tell me this authors' name: "Another midday cloudland, displaying power and beauty that one never wearies in beholding, but hopelessly unsketchable and untellable. What can poor mortals say about clouds? While a description of their huge glowing domes and ridges, shady gulfs and canons, and featheredged ravines is being tried, they vanish, leaving no visible ruins…"