It rained pretty much most of the day. A steady downfall of drops, the kind that soaks you to the bone and causes massive traffic headaches. At lunchtime there was not a trace of blue in the sky. I was happy to leave work when I did, hoping against hope to beat the traffic.
As I drove home, the clouds began to let up and become a feathery white. Against the mountains, there were giant puffs of white, gray clouds which were shimmering as the sun slowly made its descent westward.
I began to follow the sun, one part of me wanting to get home to see Brienne, another part wanting to head for the snow topped peaks clothed in clouds. I wondered if there were others like me chasing the sun or if they were in too much of a hurry and missing the glory that was unfolding.
My pictures do not do it justice. But I drove to a hill near our house, got out and moved from one side of the crest to another, invigorated by the brisk, cold air, alive by the color in the sky.