BnW

We were at the Hirshhorn Museum. The museum is of itself, the art. Here, the silhouette of m’lady in the light artifice.

Oil paintings so simple, so unreal. Mesmeric.

Like Dulles International, the Metro stations of D.C. are of a Soviet era where modernity is other worldly, demandingly engineered that we’ve been flown to the industrialized moon that is both bleak and clean, bold and quiet, lifeless and peaceful.

This city is under construction.

Great falls national park where the Potomac narrows is the flight path of Air Force One, barely heard nor seen against the scene of crashing rapids, 75,000 gallons per second.

A tradition when driving upwards is stopping at Jaemor Farms in North Georgia. Though it be a working family farm, it is just as much a novelty attraction. Are we now so advanced that our past toils to survive are now bucolic day trips?

These homes, though they large, are mere cottages. They lie within a fence, the fence within a mountain.

Off from the waterfall and the trout pond is this leisure pond set in the foothills of a verdant mountain marsh.

Driving out of Nederland down into the Boulder valley. Thunder clouds were looming in the cooler region at 7k+ feet, a reprieve from the 100+ degree basin.

Rock formations on the switchbacking roads home.

The Gulch overlook in Boulder nearing 8k feet in elevation.

How obsessed I am of clouds over open land. How could you ever be trapped, even if freedom seems so far away.