Call of a Cloud

Yesterday I walked into my home office to use the computer and caught a glimpse of a thunderhead, which surprised me because the sky had been clear only an hour before.

When I started jogging and bicycle riding regularly last August, I quickly learned that the best vantage point for seeing cloud formations to the north was at the far end of my route, by the house whose owner puts on a remarkable Halloween extravaganza every year. So I climbed into Old Red and drove out there for a look.

Because I now have a camera capable of telephoto shots, I decided to capture some of the detail in that wondrous cloud.

I'll miss the passing of the Monsoon more than usual this year. It has been a little wetter and wilder than the others I've experienced here. More than that, though, it has marked a metamorphosis in my thinking about the world. I suppose that's why I've been writing about it more than usual. Maybe that metamorphosis has made me into someone more willing to write unapologetically about what I love. Or simply the sort of person who documents the call of a cloud.

Not So Barryn After All

Remember when I said, some time ago, that the day was fast approaching when all I would have before was the vast plain of anxiety leading up to the day when the Volunteers come to Memorial Stadium? Well, it came and went with surprisingly little fanfare, the day after Bonds broke the record and I realized, after watching him blast one into McCovey Cove for the first time in ages, that there hadn't been less reason to watch the San Francisco Giants since the dark days of 1996, when Dusty Baker was nearly out the door and I had the pleasure of meeting him and Barry in the wasteland of the team's Candlestick locker room. But a funny thing happened on the way to apathy. I spent so much time watching the Giants on television in the build-up to 756 that my interest in baseball as such was powerfully renewed. I realized how much I like the sound of a game on in the background as I putter about the house. The home team in these parts, the Diamondbacks, are playing superbly with a team full of young talent. There's another great Red Sox-Yankees showdown shaping up in the American League East. And the Phillies are inspiring measured hope wherever memories of the Schuylkill Expressway lurk in the minds of baseball watchers. Although I'll still be tying myself in knots before the Tennessee game, then, I have something else to look forward to, as that dude from Northern Exposure keeps reminding me.