Life in the BIG Mountains
Posted: Sun Oct 30, 2005 12:34 am
I have lived in the flood plain, the hills and mountains of Santa Cruz. Have basked in the pacific ocean a time or two.
Yet nothing compares to my feet in the waters of a high Sierra stream even for a second!
There is magic at work up there...
The light is different, the climate is unreal, the fauna is uncaged, and my spirit is as well...
In those mountains of light I can be myself and slip beyond the grasp of time itself.. I look around and find myself in the Iceage past..
Wide eyed I watch the sun chase the clouds.. feel the afternoon breeze and dream I am part of the solid granite face of a mountain peak.
Light and shadow dance and all the while I am in stunned amazement at it all... granite, rock and tree.. all around me.
There is a quality to the light that is impossible to convey in words.. a scent upon the air that is unknown to the city streets..
Up there I am transformed into a creature of pure appreciation.. unbound by convention.. I can stop and be filled with a flower without guilt.
To spend an hour, day or week is to be humbled by the grace of he shear mass of this place..
Everywhere is life, in the rocks and trees and the very air.
I go there, unashamed, humbled and in awe... Yet continues to beckon with sweet remorse an everlasting promise of a new High Sierra Morning.
Yet nothing compares to my feet in the waters of a high Sierra stream even for a second!
There is magic at work up there...
The light is different, the climate is unreal, the fauna is uncaged, and my spirit is as well...
In those mountains of light I can be myself and slip beyond the grasp of time itself.. I look around and find myself in the Iceage past..
Wide eyed I watch the sun chase the clouds.. feel the afternoon breeze and dream I am part of the solid granite face of a mountain peak.
Light and shadow dance and all the while I am in stunned amazement at it all... granite, rock and tree.. all around me.
There is a quality to the light that is impossible to convey in words.. a scent upon the air that is unknown to the city streets..
Up there I am transformed into a creature of pure appreciation.. unbound by convention.. I can stop and be filled with a flower without guilt.
To spend an hour, day or week is to be humbled by the grace of he shear mass of this place..
Everywhere is life, in the rocks and trees and the very air.
I go there, unashamed, humbled and in awe... Yet continues to beckon with sweet remorse an everlasting promise of a new High Sierra Morning.
