It is a cloudy, overcast day in Denver. The old barn, above, shrouded in mist is near Denver's new international airport on land formerly owned by Federico Pena, first Hispanic mayor of the city. Construction of the airport began during his administration. He served as Secretary of Transportation and, later, Secretary of Energy in the Clinton administration.
Tufts of clouds become more dense, eventually forming a solid cover all the way to Atlanta. It reminds me of one of my early flights, about the time I began seriously playing with a camera. At the end of the trip I had six or seven rolls of cloud formations.
Clouds part for a brief glimpse of the Mississippi River. A small portion of it can be seen at the bottom of the frame. It is always a magnificent sight, braiding it's way through the center of the continent, stitching east to west, connecting north with south. It is more symbol, thoroughfare and annealing than barrier, spreading across our midsection, gathering us together by this one great artery.
The clouds shred just before we land in Richmond. By the time we touched down, it was a nearly cloudless day.
The tidal portion of the Appomattox River — broad and swollen from a diurnal wash of seawater — is not the small stream west of here where Confederate General Robert E. Lee surrendered in April 1865 to Union commander Ulysses S. Grant , effectively ending the American Civil War and setting the stage for the nation we are today ... and still seek to become.
Short Pump, Virginia
... before gliding — sometimes sliding — down the glass and back to where it regularly patrols the bottom.
For those of you who wrote chastising me for choosing a frame yesterday with Angela's profile rather than one that fully revealed her features, you are right. She is lovely.