A Delusional Muse

We drive towards the mountains, returning from the cricket ground. It has been very windy all day. The wind blows in gusts, cold and piercing. The mountains in the distance, where the winds are coming from, have veils of white falling upon them from the skies. When you see that in colorado, you know it's snowing up there. A few of the slopes have turned white, and glow against the dull backdrop. In a matter of minutes, the snow fall is spread across a large part of the skyline.

The spread mountains, the falling snow
the blue valley and the slopes aglow

If you were to ask me one word for it, I did say majestic.

A white bird, possibly a lake gull, glides along the winds. It is this feeling I get, when I watch this bird fly. Riding the winds chariot, in a nameless direction, with the wings spread, effortlessly. My timely mind tells me it's journey is short, my worldly mind tells me it's perphaps cold up there, but it is this feeling I get, when I watch this bird fly. A lovely backdrop and this bird in the sky, it is an artists' imagery. My mind tells me it's some in the eye, and some in the sky.
Yet. It is this feeling I get, when I watch this bird fly.
That maybe it is I who fly.