I Really Don't Know Clouds At All

I have a backlog of photos and posts to do. I remember to take my camera, generally. Now I need to do the blog posts!
Adam took me to the river the other day, telling me the sunset would be particularly lovely. And it was. A storm was coming in.

The Neuse herself -- the broader river -- was quiet. But boats seemed to be scurrying home ahead of the weather.

We look up when we want to see a large creation. We look down to our feet when we want to study details. Sand and pine cones: that's a pair you find here.

Sunlight behind clouds creates light and shadows that shift and brighten.

The same cloud view, using my sunglasses lens as a red filter.

And then I look back down at ripples of sand and sediment, shadows and shine.

As the sun lowers the lighting intensifies, as if it's telling me, "Watch closely! The best show will come at the end!"

Piling clouds build a tower of grey shifting power. The sun has yet to show himself directly.

And then he descends below the lip of the storm, into a slice of sky.

For only a minute or perhaps two, the orange orb hung between cloud banks and glistened his face across the water. Then he nestled himself into the lower blanket of cloud and slept for the night.
Adam and I took shelter on a stranger's porch when the storm's rain found us on the bike ride home.