Wandering In A Fog
The morning was cool and still, and thick with fog. There would be nothing to see from any mountain overlook except a curtain of gray. Driving did not appeal; there was nowhere to go that would open a door in the fog. It was the perfect morning for a walk in the woods.
Forest Floor
Grand mountain viewpoints, broad blue lakes, and swift-flowing waterfalls are beautiful scenes, and who doesn't enjoy seeing Nature's grandeur on the wide screen? But I also love to see her put on a show at the nearby, personal level.
Quiet Morning
When I am camping, I usually wake early, when the sun begins to come up and the birds start singing outside my tent. It's a natural time to start the day. I also go to bed early. When I start a camping trip, I very easily fall into Nature's rhythms, my sleeping and waking hours adjusting to the cycle of day and night. I tend to lose awareness of time as measured by clocks and other artificialities. Life becomes simpler and flows more gently.
Yosemite Vision
I camped in Yosemite for a week at the end of May. Yosemite is a changeling. Her personality alters each day, so that even from the same spot I never saw the same scene twice.
Life Cycle
At the marsh yesterday morning, the light was fun, by which I mean it was highly variable, always providing something good but never staying in one place.
Snow In The Woods
New Year's Eve is a challenge. To me, I mean. A personal gauntlet thrown down. A direct challenge, from an unknown, unnamed, unseen, belligerent opposition, to me, personally and directly. A challenge to be faced down and dealt with, or to slink away from in ignominious timidity and humiliation.
The Most Civil Society
I agree with Stevenson. When I start upon a woodland trail, I feel that I am entering very civil society indeed. The trees are friendly and welcoming. The small creatures of the wood scurry all about, rustling leaves, stopping to stare curiously but unperturbed about sharing their living space. Bushes and boughs wave companionably as I wander past. The trees towering above offer me shade and shelter, as well as beauty and comfort.
Driftwood
The course that brought this driftwood here has been long and twisted. Once, it stood strong among a family of trees. But as it aged, it was beaten by wind and storm, until the strain brought it down, broken, to the ground. Relentless, the waters pushed and battered it, sending it tumbling against rocks, catching and clinging for awhile, then torn loose again by the pounding water, until it was disgorged with the stream to lie here upon the shore.