This photograph was taken when I lived in a mobile home for a few short months, in a town called Catalina… in Arizona. It’s about 20 miles or so from Tucson, and those are the Santa Catalina Mountains in the distance.
My best guess is that I took it a little over ten years ago, and probably with a cellphone. There were actually a handful of old images that I found, that would probably qualify for the Word of the Day Challenge—breathtaking, but I wanted to use this one because of what breathtaking means to me.
One of the things I remember the most about Catalina is being outside in the middle of a sunny afternoon, blue skies above, and hearing the thunder start to build in the distance. It was faint at first, and if you followed its echo you could see the dark and ominous cloud billowing in the distance.
The sky would begin to darken, ever so slightly, and gusts of wind would send whirls of dust through the air. Lightning would crackle through the clouds, as if trying to escape the gloom, and the thunder would become louder with each bolt.
I loved to sit on the patio and watch as the monsoon cut the landscape into two, right in front of me, and then suddenly it would be on me, and it would pour. The sound of the rain, pounding down on the metal roof, was like a melody to me—it was hypnotic—and I was never without a smile when the storm hit.
Then as quickly as it came, the monsoon would move on, ready to entertain the next eager spectator. The sun would come out from its hiding place… and the sky would be bluer than blue.
That is what breathtaking means to me.
Peace & Love!