Living in a circa 1930's log cabin for a few days amplified the splendor of mountain wind. I don't know if it was the time of year, a typical day, or if all of the currents that pour East into the plains come swirling through the Rockies in rapid succession. Whatever the cause, the weather was simply fluid. One moment it would be pristine, the next gusts of wind would usher clouds and thunder in.
Just when I would get set to hunker down and watch the storm or figure out what to do with the now indoors children, it was gone. This wasn't just a one time deal. It cycled repetitively over the time we were there.
It was like a ballroom dance in the sky moving from waltz to polka. Ebbing and flowing. Always blowing the sounds of the mountain through our lovely little cabin.
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