God in the Texas Sky

Giving as much thought to his answer as a bird gives to leaving the ground, Matt replied, "Um yeah. We'll just paddle back upstream." It wasn't until later that afternoon, in the midst of what Shakespeare called a tempest and Jeff Bridges termed the white squall, that I realized we had made a mistake. We were pressed to the ground by angry rain drops and perpetually pulled back by a swelling river; there was nothing bird like about the trip home. In short, it was a great thrill.

We tried shooting the rapid a couple times (seen below-5th from bottom), the first few attempts resulting in the river swallowing and quickly coughing us back up. Water is powerful stuff it turns out; if it wants you somewhere else, then well, you're going. It's an argument you're never going to win.

Driving home, the second round of the storm charged overhead(first picture below). It was literally a wall of water moving about 25 miles per hour. Again, a great thrill.

Later that night, after some oversized tacos, we peddled our (borrowed) undersized bikes out to a looming water tower, jumped some fences, and began to climb in hopes of getting some good shots of the sunset. No where else have I ever seen such amazing skies in my life.

I feel, on a personal level, that we all find God in different places. Some see His harmony manifested in children's laughter, in the whispers of a river, or in the vaulted ceilings of a chapel. For me, it's often times found in the restless central Texas sky.




















Some unfortunate photos of us driving bad apples. As the picture indicates, my form is not what it once was. (Golf is a sport I've never played. Not once.)