"Hall of the Mountain King"Copyright 2006 V1VrV2
It's late afternoon over Iowa. Exploding with the power of a hundred Hiroshimas, a ten-mile high thunderstorm provides stark contrast to the sedate field of sun-dappled cumulus clouds that lies beyond. We drink in the glory of it all, our passage around the storm made peaceful by our distance from it. A poet's words come to mind: "With silent lifting mind I've trod the high untrespassed sanctity of space..." [John Gillespie Magee].
