Cloud jumping

When I was little, my family would take an annual autumn drive into the mountains to see the fall colors.  And every year when my dad forced us into the car, my brother and I would complain and come up with every homework excuse in the book that might persuade him that we needed to stay home.  We were never successful.  So deep into the north Idaho mountains we drove, on dirt roads with potholes so big that getting out and walking probably would have been faster.  But I'll admit, the orange and yellow and fiery red trees were spectacular, and the photos we have from those drives still hold spaces in the photo albums of my memories.

And one of those years, I remember driving up and up, getting closer and closer to the clouds.  I was convinced that once we reached them, I would be able to climb onto one and spend the rest of the day jumping my little heart out on its fluffy, white pillow.  But the higher we drove, the clouds seemed to dissolve, leaving behind a hazy mist of cold air in their place.  I was so disappointed that I cried.

It was a hard day for my seven-year-old self to swallow.  So even today, when the big, puffy clouds come out to play, I try to block out that sad reality (tear) and instead picture myself jumping from one cloud to another like it's my job.

Besides, a little day dreaming never hurt anyone.  And with clouds like this, who could blame me?

Overlooking Montreux.

One of the last days before my departure from Switzerland.  View of the Savoy Alps along Lac Léman.

Candy-colored clouds.  Sigh.

View from my uncle's place in Swizterland.  Don't you just want to curl up into a ball and snuggle your way to sleep in these?

And to Portland—a city also known for its cloud formations (no I'm not making this up).

When they look like this, I guess having your head in the clouds isn't such a bad thing.