I’m still working out all the kinks of having been institutionalized, behind a desk, with the computer screen an ergonomic distance away as my sole line of vision, for 30 years. It’s an adjustment and unexpected transition learning to live on the ‘outside.’ And outside is where my heart is.
Recently had a heavy wet snow fall after a dry spell of 7 weeks. I decided to go snow shoeing up to Schultz Pass Road. The day was crisp, a good smattering of high wispy white clouds against the indigo blue sky. This was one of my favorite walks – it is close to home; it’s short enough but steep enough to get a good heart rate going. It’s not well traveled by foot or vehicle – quite suitable for me to enjoy the solitariness. It was forested enough to keep me aware of wildlife. It was a perfect walk.
My perfect walk changed drastically last summer when approximately 1/3 of the forest on the San Francisco Peaks burned. The area where I left the car and strapped on my snow shoes is pristine forest land. But I still find it hard to accept “being in the moment” of where I am in the forest and not think about what it will look like in the next ¼ mile or the next ½ mile. The beauty that is still there is unmistakable and I don’t like dismissing the splendor that is there, all the while knowing about what lies ahead. But it happened for me– I did get lost in the effort of the climb, the purity of the air, the whiteness of the snow and the peace.
The freshly fallen foot of diamond dust glittered so brilliantly that I could still see the reverse images sparkle against my eye lids when I closed my eyes. Fledgling snowballs were being released from their nests of needles and bark. Each carat realizing -- as it joined the others on their plummet through the fast-track course of gravity -- that it was not theirs to ever fly.
The remains of the trees looked as though they had been laid on their sides, doused with royal icing, and then stood back up. It was much colder those few hundred feet higher up, and the “frosting” had frozen onto the trees. As the sun warmed the air, the ice started to break up and fall. Listening to it with my eyes closed it sounded eerily enough like kindling wood beginning to catch the flame. As the larger chunks fell on the needle-less limbs, a hollow echoing sound was broadcast to those who could hear.
And there were plenty who could hear up there. Me. And what I first suspected were deer and elk from the many number of trails in evidence. On my subsequent ascent the next day I found I needed to modify the list of who was listening. A pack of howling coyotes were tuning up and were dubbing over the sound of the melting. On neither day did I want to modify the list to include mountain lions or bears. This was easily accomplished by not inspecting the tracks up close, and so I can say none were to be seen and I was to be seen by none. Thus, the peace was maintained.
