2025 Head in the Clouds Amherst Wall Calendar NOW AVAILABLE!

Calendar Cover ~ Photo by Suzanne Warren

GIVE THE GIFT OF A NEW YEAR 

 with the all new

2025 Head in the Clouds Amherst Wall Calendar

Order online for delivery by mail

$22.00 per calendar

Free shipping with a purchase of 2 calendars or more

Proceeds* to benefit the

Open the calendar on 2025, and treat yourself and your loved ones to the changing seasons of one of the most beautiful corners of the world, from the farmlands to the rivers, lakes, hills and trails of Western Massachusetts.

• 12 beautiful, seasonal photos of Amherst and the Pioneer Valley by residents and visitors (scroll below to view all pages)
• Over 240 daily entries highlighting astronomical, historical, weather, and meteorological events in Amherst and New England from 1620-2024
• (NEW) Guide to Cloudspotting
• 17" X 11" (full size when open)
• Saddle stitch binding
• High quality coated gloss, heavyweight paper
• Shrink wrapped

Purchase ONLINE at ETSY: https://etsy.me/3BfnDzU

Also available for in-person purchase at:

Amherst Books, located in downtown Amherst at 8 Main Street on the Common. Phone: (800) 503-5865. Amherst Books is a locally owned, independent bookshop. In addition to our calendar, they carry new and used books, including an amazing selection of poetry, literature, philosophy, small press titles, literary journals. 

Local Pick-Up. For questions, special requests, and to arrange for pick up in North Amherst (payment via Venmo or check), please email to order directly through Sharon at CloudsAmherst[@]gmail[.]com

Our Head in the Clouds Amherst Wall Calendar is the perfect gift for cloud spotters, nature lovers, photographers, artists and writers, students here and abroad, locals, and former residents longing for a taste of home. This calendar will have them (and you) falling in love with Western Massachusetts month after month. And this is a gift that will keep giving all year round.  

Connecticut River - Alexandra Dawson Conservation Area, Hadley
Photo by Suzanne Warren

Guide to Cloudspotting

Ice Canopy, Hawley
Photo by Brittany Wolcott

Puffer's Pond, North Amherst
Photo by Joshua Wolfsun

The Wedding Tree - Hampshire College, Amherst
Photo by James Patten

University of Massachusetts Amherst - College of Education
Photo by Steven D. Brewer

Poetic Dialogue, Amherst
Photo by Mindy Domb

Connecticut River - Mitch’s Marina, Hadley
Photo by Stephanie Oates

The Dickinson Homestead, Amherst
Photo by Sharon Vardatira

Moody Bridge Road, Hadley
Photo by Linda Repasky

French King Bridge between Erving and Gill
Photo by Elliot Levin

Connecticut River - Alexandra Dawson Conservation Area, Hadley
Photo by Suzanne Warren

Where the berm turns (between Cemetery Road and Honeypot), Hadley
Photo by Stephanie O’Keeffe

Silvio O. Conte National Wildlife Refuge, Hadley
Photo by Jennifer Murphy

Back of Calendar

Shifting to Fall

Photo by Annette Fortier, Turtle Hill Photography
Ames Pond, Kestrel Land Trust Nature Retreat, Shutesbury MA

Did the arrival of fall also take you by surprise this year? Somewhere around mid-August, even before cool air arrived in any discernible way, something shifted, almost imperceptibly at first. It happens every year. 

I suspect it’s the slant of the sun combined with the arrival of those first few cooler nights. Even in years when the heat lingers, by the time September arrives, the season’s transition is undeniable. September is when the trees begin to change color, confirming what we already know – winter is coming. 

This featured September photo in the 2024 Head in the Cloud Amherst wall calendar is quintessential New England in late September. Photographer Annette Fortier (Turtle Hill Photography) captured this scene while exploring Ames Pond, a Kestrel Land Trust Nature Retreat in Shutesbury. She recalls, “I was struck by the wild beauty, peace and spirit of the place. I couldn’t resist trying to capture the essence of it.”

Autumn in New England is unparalleled. Here’s hoping you have many opportunities to pause and savor the moments.

Into the Wilderness

Day 1, Alaskan Coast - all photos by Dan Vardamis

𝗧𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗳𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗮 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗜 𝗼𝗰𝗰𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝘂𝗽𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗺𝘆 𝗔𝗿𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗰-𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿, 𝗗𝗮𝗻 𝗩𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗮𝗺𝗶𝘀, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗻𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 (𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲), 𝗘𝗹𝗮𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗩𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗮𝗺𝗶𝘀. 𝗧𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗺𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗜 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗺𝘆 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗰𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘇𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻. 𝗜 𝘁𝘆𝗽𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗱𝗲𝗳𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝗱𝗱𝘀 𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗹 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘀. 𝗧𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗯𝗮𝗯𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘁. 𝗔𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱, 𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗿𝗲𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗲𝘁-𝗴𝗼. 𝗗𝗮𝗻'𝘀 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗗𝗮𝘆 𝟭 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲.

𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟖, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 - “𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘭?” 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘶𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘌𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘨, 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘚𝘦𝘢 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧. 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘦’𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘍𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴, 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝘞𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘣𝘺𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘒𝘪𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘍𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦.

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯, 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘐𝘯𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘯 1999. 𝘈𝘯 𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺, 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘛𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩, 𝘴𝘦𝘢 𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘚𝘦𝘢, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘖𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯, 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘢 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘢. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘈𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘦𝘯, 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺, 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵, 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘐𝘧 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘗𝘰𝘭𝘦, 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘐 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘖𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢 𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘥. 𝘐𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘦 12, 𝘚𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘢 𝘋𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘔𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘰𝘬. 𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥. 𝘙𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘣𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 50 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘶𝘨𝘶𝘴𝘵 23, 1999. 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦. 𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯? 𝘔𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰…𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴.

𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘸𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥 60-70 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘤𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨. 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨. 𝘙𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮. 𝘖𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘨𝘰𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘞𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘤 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘕𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘨𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘙𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘔𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘢 𝘸𝘦’𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 1002 𝘻𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘻𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘕𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘪𝘭 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘪𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴, 𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘳, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘥. 𝘗𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘵. 𝘞𝘦’𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘴, 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴.

𝘉𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘱𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘢 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘪𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘺 𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘴. 𝘖𝘯 𝘑𝘶𝘯𝘦 8, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘻𝘦𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴-𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘶𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘢 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘯𝘰𝘰𝘻𝘦. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱, 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵-𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘸𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘴, 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦-𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥-𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥, 𝘐 𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨! 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰, 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘧𝘧, 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥. 𝘞𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘓𝘢𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘱𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯. 𝘚𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘨𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵-𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘢. 𝘞𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘻𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘗𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥, 𝘧𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘶 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘴. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘚𝘭𝘰𝘱𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘨𝘰?

𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘫𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘤𝘰𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 “𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧” 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦-𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘶𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘐’𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩-𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘻𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘪𝘤𝘦. 𝘐𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘺 𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘒𝘢𝘩𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘯-𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘐 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘌𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥, “𝘋𝘢𝘯, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘱,” 𝘐 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥…𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘴. 𝘞𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴. 𝘏𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 - 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺.

𝘞𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘤𝘦-𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘐 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘻𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦, “𝘛𝘸𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵. 𝘔𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘺𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘤, 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘔𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘖𝘒 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘔𝘰𝘰𝘥? 𝘚𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱. 𝘓𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘻𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘌𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘥. 𝘉𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸.”

𝘞𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩. 𝘞𝘦’𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵, 𝘩𝘺𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳. 𝘞𝘦’𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘰 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘱 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘌𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘵-𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘐 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘨, 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱. 𝘐 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥.

Inner and Outer Worlds

Hampshire Bicycle Exchange, University Drive, Amherst MA
Photo by Andy Churchill

When I first laid eyes on this striking image, I initially assumed the “inside” view was some kind of high end art gallery. In reality, it’s the artistry of Hampshire Bicycle Exchange on University Drive in Amherst. Andy Churchill, the photographer behind this scene, describes the moment: “A storm had just passed, and I was primarily interested in the sunset, but upon looking at the shot I was struck by the interplay of natural and artificial light.”

This image, with its uniquely beautiful juxtaposition of inner and outer worlds, is the featured photo for August in our 2024 Head in the Clouds Amherst wall calendar.

The Tyranny of Blue Sky Thinking

View from rehab, August 2021 - by S. Vardatira

On July 20, 2021, three years ago to the day and just as I was beginning to format the 2022 Head in the Clouds Amherst wall calendar, I checked into the hospital for a planned, routine hip replacement surgery. While I wasn’t promised immediate healing, everyone – from my surgeon to my primary care provider to friends who had “been there, done that” – affirmed I would start walking and return home the next day (or, maybe, depending on how things went, the day after that). In actuality, I didn’t return home for nine weeks.

Following the surgery, I spent one week in the ICU, followed by three weeks in an acute rehab facility and five weeks in sub-acute rehab. My progress was excruciatingly slow – overnight, I had gone from relative autonomy to utter powerlessness. It wasn’t until a year later, when I finally forced myself to read my entire surgical record, that I learned there had been real concern about whether I would ever walk again.

There never was a 2022 Head in the Clouds Amherst wall calendar. In early August, as I was taking breaks from my rehab facility’s daily PT sessions to continue formatting the calendar on my laptop, I finally faced the inevitable: even with the generosity of friends who had offered to help, I could not make it happen. Feeling a swirl of emotion (but primarily a sense of failure), I saved the calendar file, closed InDesign, and shut down my laptop. I glanced up at my room’s narrow window, positioned near the top of the ceiling, well above eye level. It was impossible to get close enough to see anything happening on the ground, but it did allow a glimpse of the sky – not enough to see what was coming over the horizon, or the position of the moon or sun, but if a cloud drifted directly into frame, I’d be able to follow its brief path from left to right beyond the glass.

Since arriving days earlier, however, the sky had been endlessly blue, with not even a wisp of cirrus to vary the scene. Just that morning, one of the nursing assistants had greeted me by cheerily commenting on the lack of cloud cover: “It’s such a beautiful, completely blue sky out there – perfection!” I had begun to ponder the possibility I had somehow landed in an alternate, utterly boring universe, devoid of clouds. Thus, it was something of a surprise to glance up at that moment and see darkening cumulonimbus swirling outside my window. A summer storm!

Without waiting for an escort or permission to leave my room, I grabbed my cell phone (for capturing the view) and clumsily maneuvered my wheelchair down the hallway to a large floor-to-ceiling window I remembered seeing when I first arrived. A CNA made a half-hearted attempt to intervene, but when I pointed up, her attention followed. For the briefest instance, lightning illuminated the darkness, and the sky opened, sending sheets of rain and hail cascading across the parking lot, hammering on the roof, demanding entry. And then, seconds later, all was silent.

My view improved considerably when I moved to sub-acute rehab. A window with a full view of the sky ran along one entire side of my ground-floor room. Although the new facility was challenging in countless ways, that window, and the ever-changing clouds above, saved me. But not just me – I noticed that everyone, patients and staff alike, were drawn to the building’s windows and doors, hoping to glimpse a rainbow, drifting cumulus, or a rippling, silvery mackerel sky.

In early September, a few weeks before I would return home, the remnants of Hurricane Ida swept across the Valley. From my window, I watched the clouds build and gather overhead. Random leaves fell into view, diving and rising briefly on the wind before coming to rest, finally, in the meadow. Outside, under the portico, I watched as a visiting family stashed dinner tupperwares into canvas totes and pushed chairs back into place under the picnic table. Another trio glanced up, aware and yet unperturbed by the impending storm.

That evening, long after I should have been asleep, I peered into the night and the all-enveloping darkness. The streetlights blinked on and off each time a tree branch, swaying under the ferocious wind, obscured my sightline. It was raining hard, the remnants of Ida thrumming off the roof, gathering in rivulets and puddling across the sidewalks. The parking lot looked oddly empty, only a few staff cars scattered here and there. A rush of air wrapped around the rain. A lightning bolt threw the trees into sharp relief. In that moment, a nursing assistant, who had just gotten off shift, jumped through the entryway into the night and ran zigzagging across the parking lot, hooting and hollering, spinning, and holding her arms out to the rain and the wind.

I was at once inside and outside – dry and drenched in rain, motionless and crackling with electricity.

The manifesto of the international Cloud Appreciation Society includes a “pledge to fight ‘blue-sky thinking’ wherever we find it,” adding, “life would be dull if we had to look up at cloudless monotony day after day.” In that spirit, here’s wishing you breathtaking, dramatic skies, clear starry nights, and always living with your head in the clouds – no matter the weather.

Dawn from rehab, August 2021 - by S. Vardatira

Go placidly

Cumulus Cloud Sky, Hadley MA    Photo by Sharon Vardatira

𝑮𝒐 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒃𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆.

- Max Ehrmann, circa 1927, 𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑎

Having your head in the clouds, even for just a few minutes, is just good for your soul.

Look at Clouds Beer

Karl the Fog - Hazy IPA

A fellow Council Member of the Cloud Appreciation Society started off a whole conversation about cloud-themed beers when she posted that parents in the San Francisco Bay area read "Karl the Fog" to their children while drinking "Karl the Fog" *Hazy* IPA. Who knew cloud-themed beer was a thing? (Apparently the book is a must-read as well.)

Sky IPA

Look at Clouds Beer

Seeking Photos for the 2025 Head in the Clouds Amherst Calendar!

2023 Calendar Cover

CALLING ALL WESTERN MASS PHOTOGRAPHERS

Annually, the Head in the Clouds Amherst wall calendar is born from the collective contributions of amateur and professional photographers living or traveling in Amherst and Western Massachusetts. The 2025 version will be no exception! From our ever-changing cloud canopy to our beautiful valley, with endless trails, historic landmarks, colleges and universities, farms, quiet ponds, and woods (lovely, dark and deep), there is so much to explore.

We are currently seeking photo submissions for the 2025 calendar. So now is your chance to share your favorite scenes with calendar fans far and wide! Start flipping through your photo collection – or grab your camera, take to our scenic highways, byways and trails, and make some new memories. We can’t wait to see what you’ve got!

Submission Guidelines

·      Submission deadline is Saturday, June 8, 2024 at 11:59 pm.

·      Submit up to 12 images.

·     Submit to CloudsAmherst@gmail.com in one of two ways: 1) attach your photo(s) to one or more emails; or 2) upload your photo(s) to a Google Drive folder and email the link to the folder. Enter "HITCA 2025 Calendar Photo Submission" in the email subject line.

·      In the body of the email include the following information for each photo you submit:

1. Where the photo was taken and what scenic feature is depicted
2. Names of any identifiable people in the photo
3. Photographer's name (your name)
4. Your contact information

·      Submit the highest resolution version of your photo(s). We prefer at least 300 PPI and cannot use images below 200 PPI. (If in doubt, send your photo to us, and we will make the determination.) 

·      Photos must be full color, landscape orientation (horizontal, not vertical).

·      Photos must be taken in Western Massachusetts, with preference for scenes of Amherst and the Pioneer Valley. Your photo should also evoke the seasons and the intersection of life and weather. In addition, we are seeking:

1. Unique renderings of iconic local landmarks. (Special call this year for photos that include The Homestead, The Evergreens, Lilacland, or Sweetser Park “A Poetic Dialogue” silhouettes.)
2. Cloud formations and weather phenomena (over or around the Pioneer Valley).

·      Light photo editing is allowed, including cropping, removing ancillary objects, and adjustments to contrast, saturation, highlights/shadows, and color. However, changes should not result in processed colors diverging significantly from the original colors or the image looking unrealistic. Your edited photo should feel natural and not distorted.

·      Fully generated AI images – even if they are based on photographs of local scenes – will not be considered. In addition to checking final photos for AI generation, we will be asking selected photographers to confirm that their images are not AI generated.

·      If your photo is selected, you will be asked to provide additional information, including a written comment about your photo to be included in the 2025 calendar.

Click HERE for additional tips on submitting winning Head in the Clouds Amherst photos.

If your photo is selected for the 2025 calendar, you will receive a free calendar and reduced rates on any additional calendars you opt to purchase. All net proceeds from the 2025 sales will be donated to a local community-based organization to be announced in July.   

This way Asperitas, that way Lenticular, oh my!

Asperitas clouds over Amherst, 5/1/2024
Photo by Sharon Vardatira

Crazy day at work, managing a constant stream of mini crises. Finally decided I just had to take a break, and wow am I glad I did. Asperitas over Amherst, cloud spotters! This is not a type of cloud you see every day! (Can't help but observe that it's a bit of a crazy day in the atmosphere as well.) 🌥💙

Lenticular clouds over Hadley, 5/1/2024
Photo by Sharon Vardatira

As I was taking pictures of the Asperitas clouds over Amherst, I happened to turn around to catch these lenticular clouds (the circular, stacked, top-like clouds) over Hadley. They hung around for only a minute before dispersing, but the sky was high drama in all directions for a time there. Not the noisy, windy, heart-thumping drama of a descending cumulonimbus, but drama nonetheless for anyone who was paying attention. Lenticular clouds come in different shapes and sizes, but I've never photographed this classic top shaped version around here before. New addition to my cloud collection! 

Blue Hour at Quabbin Reservoir

Quabbin Reservoir, Belchertown MA
Photo by Linda Repasky

You are forgiven if you think this is some far flung body of water in some distant land. (We thought so too when we first received this photo submission for our 2024 calendar!) Turns out, this is just “blue hour” at nearby Quabbin Reservoir. According to photographer Linda Repasky, “Shortly before sunrise, the sky and water at Quabbin Reservoir took on a delightfully blue hue. Pure magic!”

The jury initially struggled over whether to include this photo in the calendar, not because it isn’t extraordinary, but because we tend to prefer “recognizable” local scenes. At the same time, we also encourage fresh takes on familiar locations – in Emily Dickinson’s words, we favor photos that “Tell all the truth but tell it slant.”

With Emily’s words guiding the final selection, Repasky’s photo became the featured photo for April in the 2024 Head in the Clouds Amherst wall calendar. No question, this is an absolutely perfect addition to this year’s calendar!

Partial Solar Eclipse - Western Massachusetts

Near-total solar eclipse (95% coverage)
Hadley MA - Photo by S. Vardatira

A series of minor mishaps as I was leaving the house this afternoon resulted in my forgetting my tripod at home, which, in turn, meant that none of my "eclipse" photos are worth a darn. But here's the thing - it doesn't matter at all. Happily, I still had my eclipse glasses, and every "bite out of the sun" view was thrilling. Took this photo in Hadley at the moment closest to totality for us (sun 95% covered). No, you can't see a sliver of sun - that's how bright even 5% of the sun is - but the optical effect courtesy of the eclipse was very cool, nevertheless. Clouds, sun, beams of light. Grateful for all of it!

Floating on a Mirror

Tobacco Barn, Hadley MA
Photo by Richard Getler

"𝑶𝒍𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒔." 

~ Adrian Bell, A Countryman's Spring Notebook

Other than some windy days and nights, this March has been milder than most. Even the few remnants of snow that lingered into February melted away weeks ago. And still (the snow in the foreground notwithstanding), this photo, captured by photographer Richard Getler, unquestionably evokes spring in the Pioneer Valley. This extraordinary image is at once familiar and strange. As Richard observed, “𝐼 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑛 𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑛, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛 𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟, 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑑𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑒.”

This is the featured photo for March in the 2024 Head in the Clouds Amherst wall calendar. By a unanimous vote, it was also selected for the calendar cover!