The Ridge Line

As I gaze from my apartment balcony the day after a heavy rain, I can see Madonna Mountain clearly. The rains have come and purified the air and brought a brisk chill to the air. The wind moves in with a gently push, just strong enough to notice it upon your skin. Clouds are white and light on the edges with slight darkness to their cores. They float across the sky slow enough to set and define the ridge line of the hills. they bring contract to the ridge and magnify what is up on the hill. I am able to see trees, shrubs, and even two hikers. With all the rain we have been getting, the slopes of the hills look brown from the churning of the dirt as water runs down its side. The muddy landscape is speckled with patches of grass that seem to emerging along the hills. As I sit, I begin to feel the sun that was once hidden by the clouds warm my skin. As a reaction, I look to the sun. I know that it will blind me eyes, but it still holds such a power that makes me look. I refocus my attention on the hills, yet my eyes still hurt, and I close them. I listen. I hear the gentle wind, I hear birds chirping, I hear leaves rustling, I hear my heart beating, and then a car drives by and pollutes the moment. As I look again at the ridge, my eyes move down to the swaying of the tree tops in the foreground. Then my hands go cold and my page goes dark. A cloud has passed once more and blocks me off the suns warmth and light. I accept that there will most likely be more rain and dark overcast days, however my heart longs for the sunny days of spring to come once more.