For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway #2

"He looked at her and across the meadow where a hawk was hunting and the big afternoon clouds were coming now over the mountains."

I wish I knew how to paint. Or draw.

I want to be there. I want those clouds. I want that bird.

Ka-Kaw!

I need to get out of the city. I'm having nature withdraws. No grass, no trees, clean air. No expansive views over Rockville.

No looking at little black dots waiting for them to move so they can reveal their "cowness."

I like nature. Even though it's hard to really be "one with nature."

Actually, what I miss is the waterfall near Santa Barbara, Honduras. OK, so it's not really a waterfall.

There is a big river along side the road and there is a stream that feeds into the river. On that small stream is a small waterfall that fills up a small lagoon type thing. It's a swimming hole.

Across the small waterfall is a bridge with a road on top. From said bridge you can jump into the water. Where this mini-fall splashes it's deep enough so you don't die.

The drop is enough that you have a split second of regret while falling.

That's where I want to go. Out of Beijing into Honduran water.

Back to the bird though...