Encountering one of the most massive thunderstorms that I've seen here in the mountains, I could only document this glimpse of a lightning because, well, I decided it was not safe to be outdoors.
After the Storm
The downside: massive thunderstorms with awe-inspiring lightning piercing the entire horizon for hours at a time, making one feel helpless against turbulent Nature; knocked-out electricity.
The upside: this.
Mountain Storm
We chased my insubordinate basset hound for almost two miles, as he, in turn, followed half a dozen deer on the side of the mountain over our heads. Not even the white tip of his upward-pointed tail, bred into bassets precisely for detection purposes, was visible for much of the time, making my heart sink.
Temporarily.
This resilient hunter returned, exhausted, his tongue almost dragging on the ground next to his ears.
(Amusement came afterward.)
Why do I mention this? Well, we came back just in time to hide from this—the worst thunder-and-lightning-and-hail-and-torrential-downpour-repeat that I've seen here in the mountains.
This Week in Mobile
This week in smartphone photography, we cross-country skied in the mountains during a massive snow storm!
Whenever I post about skiing alongside all those large and mythic-looking ravens, I am not being metaphorical. I actually mean doing so literally.
My little, low-riding, but brave warrior seemed unfazed by the dark and menacing clouds heading in our direction.
These clouds brought gusting winds and carried sharp snow pellets hitting our faces along the way.
But that made the experience all the more exhilarating—so exhilarating, in fact, that it had to be repeated three times!
This Week in Mobile (#PNWProblems)
I am at the lake to do open-water frontcrawl in the early evening. It's windy, which means that I'd be able to get a more rigorous workout battling the waves.
Five minutes later, however, contained Apocalypse arrives: the horizon turns black, the water--unnaturally turquoise. Gusting winds suspend the multitude of yellow-beaked gulls over my head as if on puppet strings: white boomerangs against purple clouds.
Thor strikes the sky.
The lifeguard yells, "Everyone, OUT of the water!".
I change out of my beach bikini into a stern one-piece swimsuit and begrudgingly head to the overchlorinated, allergy-inducing pool instead--with enough time to only swim a mile.
A while later, I emerge, sneezing, only to come upon happy blue-skied sunshine.
I feel mocked. Slightly.
