Back at the end–the very, very end–of January, weather rolled through the Eastern United States. I diligently posted at an airfield waiting for the front to slam into my vehicle. I chose an airfield because there are so many trees here, I rarely see the horizon. Is there a horizon in Virginia?
On my way to the airfield, I drove past a graveyard. It was not the traditional “bones and granite” graveyard, but a graveyard of trailers. And there was this little shack. How old is it? What has it seen? Who built it? On this day, none of that mattered. The sky was ominous, the wind was blasting (gusting to over 50mph, I recall), and, once again, I felt fortunate to have my camera in-hand.