tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18367084812041254532024-02-19T23:02:29.028-08:00Borrowed ParadiseA blog combining wilderness landscape photography, nature poetry, and ecological philosophy inspired by Japanese haibun-style prose and haiku.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141450644447345554noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1836708481204125453.post-83731345992835402632016-10-10T09:26:00.001-07:002016-10-10T09:26:15.126-07:00Lake LaCrosse Trek {Sip 3: Serenity}<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<b>We share the sunrise</b> with four bear, plodding across the valley
slopes, heavy maws dripping with the sugary blood of late-season
huckleberries. I chew them myself as I walk among the galaxies, pale
blue orbs adrift and brimming in the expanse of burgundy leaves—the
sweetness washes over my tongue like a hurricane glimpsed from the
timescale of mountains. I'm sure the bears too are rejoicing in their
good fortune, that their last meals of the season should be so
decadent. They hide away in tufts of trees as the shadows slide into
the lake, where the golden fish of bending light swim in wavelets
across surface. With each step along the rocky shore a new generation
of tiny frogs scrambles into the water. We eat breakfast by a pool
of tadpoles waiting patiently to walk on land.<br />
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In late morning the light is full and generous. Reading by the water, the grass is like a cushion and the
pages turn to peach with the sunshine glow of my bare skin. Erica is there
beside me in her own silent fulfillment, watching the
click-click-click of grasshoppers jumping their jagged arcs of fear
and joy. But—the short crorking chortle of a pair of passing crows
cuts right through the quiet! I strip and plunge into the crystal
waters, nerves aflame, now running through the meadow naked and
exulting as the sky drinks the water from my goosebumped skin. The
sun showers us in warm kisses until the only thing we can do is drift
asleep in her soft lap.</div>
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Fly buzzing</div>
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through silence</div>
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--lazy heat.</div>
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In dreams I think, the second biggest lie we're ever told is that
this bottomless thirst in our spirit could ever be filled by the
stuff of possession. I think, the biggest lie is when we're named.</div>
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<b>Upslope across wandering streams</b> that trickle along and suddenly
plunge into stonecutting canyon. Ground grades into wall as I scramble up what seem like ancient
trails, set down with the gentle grace of age, grasping slick sedges
and loose rock and the hope that things will turn out just fine.
Around me now are the far horizons of mountains; they're curved
downward like spines, Farallon Giants bowed in adoration to something
far greater and more terrible than even their own ageless power.<br />
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Reaching the ridge, I see it. Mount Anderson's silent mass—Great
Tombstone Mountain! It's clear now to whom those lesser peaks are
praying. Immense & stony-faced, glacial nesting majesty, jutting
at unbelievable angles out of the skinny dark valley below. Monuments
of ice hang from His peaks, spilling at mineral speed over rocky
cliffs, each instant grinding away at His hard flesh. Yet He sits in
monastic stillness, unflinching. Mortality does not scare him! No
churn of mantle, no gape of tectonic jaws can make his blind eyes
blink. He is mortality itself! Sunset licks her many kings, and the
dried-mud precipice stares into me like a mirror. I blink, exhale.
Back. </div>
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The whole twilight expanse of the tree-toothed eastern Olympics is
there before me, but I can only watch my fragile feet, whistling
nervously as I stumble downhill in the deepening dark. Somewhere on
the slope the sound of tumbling rocks gives away two elk. They're
also headed back—and in an instant the path to camp is clear and
safe. I've been following all along the old etchings of their broad
hooves, the paths of their ancestors, and of mine. I thank them
deeply for showing me the way one more time.
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White twilit butterfly</div>
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wings flapping</div>
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together into darkness.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141450644447345554noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1836708481204125453.post-29731594845773578522016-09-26T12:55:00.000-07:002016-09-26T13:03:46.139-07:00Lake Lacrosse Trek {Sip 2: Gladness}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Camp broken under
starscape crevasses—firs' towering darkness. Racing the rising sun
up the final push of the pass, make it just a little too on time for
the red of first light against the far peaks. Flurry of photos,
flustered, and on to breakfast.</div>
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Almost asleep in the
gentle grasses at Home Sweet Home, sun warm and strong against our
skin. We lay there together while time drifts away on the breeze.
Sun's already high when we're back on the trail. Brain prickling
with ever-shortening days.</div>
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Long day with the
old growth spirits—t<span style="font-weight: normal;">hrough sol</span><span style="font-weight: normal;">emn
</span><span style="font-weight: normal;">sacred forests of trees with
bark like scales of an old dragon who long ago sat down </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">in
meditation and</span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> let his
</span><span style="font-weight: normal;">clawed </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">feet
grow into the earth. </span><span style="font-weight: normal;">I</span>mpossible
not to imagine the <i>kami</i> living in these trees, their silent
tinkering with the luck of travelers. Call out—just in case—with
a humble prayer for their blessings as we pass through their woods.
All that's lost is regained in turn, and so we climb back up from
Duckabush Crossing to the alpine country, LaCrosse Basin and Mt. Steel.</div>
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Even with our
dawdling, we break timber just before the peak of the long autumn
sunset. Heron, Grouse, Bear, & Rising Moon come to give us their
good blessings, and we know this is the answer of the mountain
spirits. We set up camp again in the dark, now casting shadows in
silver, and rest our tired bones. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141450644447345554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1836708481204125453.post-79449674416749587912016-09-22T10:36:00.000-07:002016-10-03T21:19:21.307-07:00Lake Lacrosse Trek {Sip 1: Joy}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Paranoia and anxiety
swim laps in my mind the whole drive out. A tireless list of things
forgotten, most of them remembered. The sun's too high, the day's too
short, we're not ready. Soothing lies from a worried mind, the
promise of paralysis, “nothing has to change.” Meanwhile, another
ten thousand cells in my body die and are replaced. Erica's
confidence drives us forward, “I've never felt better!” Feet on
soil, and it's one step after the other.</div>
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<br />
<br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
on the rocks</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
a feather's dreams</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
of fledgling's
plumes</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Leaves & shadows
shiver in the restless wind, the rippling water scattering light
madly. Old Fir coils around his dead brother's woody bones. Yes, each
step brings us farther into the Forest; farther out of self, further
into Self. Everything and everyone is dressed their finest: the
river's thunderous skirts & ferny crowns; the waxy vines,
lustrous and luxuriant; the mossy maples draped in their cascading
regalia; the bushes jeweled with berry-gems, even the Devil's Club in
its thorny formality. Yes! The dress of right now is by far the
finest, and each second is a celebration!</div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Pacific-Northwest/i-QbBMJhN/A" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw9CeTjGhgxHHdUrvA5MkOu0NEBqM4aCjlvHy54FLj4YfRvUO3TDt0C-RWuUN3HzE_AzcRUIiYZen45cM3kkRyvY3rz88NseU91DaSdv5cyJ__pAr2IOMDaV0UjhhyphenhyphenxB-CGvK2Ot6Qi-s/s1600/ClearWaterMind.jpg" /></a>At Nine Stream the
trail turns its eyes up and past the slide crossing sprints upward
to the pass. We try to match its energy and with typical frailty
barely keep ourselves moving forward. Near the end of our climb,
we're rewarded with a view of Mt. Skokomish's elegant curves. The elixir
of the mountain! The sight is all we need to finish out our day's work.<br />
<br />
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<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Make Two Bear late, with smiling exhaustion and ravenous
appetites—campsite flush with fresh huckleberry bliss. The early
moonlight darkly lights the slope across from our camp. For us, it's
not yet risen.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141450644447345554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1836708481204125453.post-13300574214755428312016-09-05T10:14:00.002-07:002016-09-06T18:59:13.213-07:00Pettit Lake - Golden Matriarchs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/TheWest/i-WdNksNG/A" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-e7WqAXlhljiO5jVbs67hY_f3Be3hnlvg2m3Qp8vfV3kxj5GE2bhaFEJQ3jenR9l4sGd-SqjIyFDf377a2edBNFp-7WU0LL3r6HrESBxnPPG_ibcZWkV-asThxNtCPBv9tXbXiQl26Sg/s1600/goldenmatriarchs.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
The two Matriarchs of <a href="http://blog.borrowedparadise.com/2016/08/pettit-lake-junes-kiss.html">Pettit Lake</a>
illuminated by the golden rays of cloud-piercing dawn. On such a
morning in the Sawtooths, you'd best be careful or the mountains will
cut right through your ego.<br />
<br />
Turqoise waters, shallow<br />
& unending, even in stillness you can't<br />
step in the same lake twice.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141450644447345554noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1836708481204125453.post-84969846895377341352016-09-01T09:24:00.000-07:002016-09-01T09:38:19.721-07:00Pears - for Nikki, Katie, Julie, and Pat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdIolMlae0_Fb7mHQzh8bSqDFXRVz22cXw381bm6q8eB34DXyjoNP-HM05RDMpGF_HRzAUQE8zCtQGIz_Z0dgRDss4JLBlKJsfW5u7-O1skSEwssS9Tbhpjn-hKV3Cpk8h6Gexu5RJIcM/s1600/pears-0289-2-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdIolMlae0_Fb7mHQzh8bSqDFXRVz22cXw381bm6q8eB34DXyjoNP-HM05RDMpGF_HRzAUQE8zCtQGIz_Z0dgRDss4JLBlKJsfW5u7-O1skSEwssS9Tbhpjn-hKV3Cpk8h6Gexu5RJIcM/s1600/pears-0289-2-3.jpg" /></a></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;">Pears</span></b>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>for
Nikki, Katie, Julie, and Pat - Thank You</i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
We left in morning,</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
sun at our backs,</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
roaring down the
coast,</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
howling & skin
exulting</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
in the sunshine and
sylvan air</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
swirling in through
open windows</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
riding high in the
saddle of
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
the Great Vehicle of
Creative Destruction</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
(Coyote, Kitsune,
Raven, three thousand blessings)</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Each moment dying</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
and living</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
in the way only
bodies know,</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
over tide's fingers
and clearcut hills</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
over concrete
piers—the mouth of Old Columbia itself!</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
timber ships passing
down below</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
bellies full of fire
of ancient trees,</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
burning into poison
air,</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
humming with our
motor,</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
beautiful.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
-</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
There,</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
on the river's
hills,</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I left you with
another family.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Their generosity was
immediate,</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
overwhelming. They
gave me</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
this bag of Asian
pears</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
from their garden--</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
the taste! Crisp and
quenching</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
in the warm blanket
of august noon</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Like new stories</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
among old friends,
like underground</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
rivers, like light
and water embracing</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
there, in the
leaves, at last,
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
in mutual pleasure</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
I stuff myself</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
the whole way home.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141450644447345554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1836708481204125453.post-67319184478747034442016-08-25T11:59:00.001-07:002016-09-01T09:37:40.855-07:00National Park Service - Centennial and Legacy!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Botswana/i-TbgMCjz/A" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvRACKt1ydchxSAMxio0nWAUYrDIhDEW0ghU1Zc3FL2VFsncTc6VqFPVjbzWQWzKlpqHibLbQiaLt0UYNHCEVpgyNPcKJ0dgOD8SJGPMOZJ4PCCeQRGMOnfldXgjE_VEGS55wCf3E03H4/s1600/untitled+shoot-4797.jpg" /></a></div>
Today is the National Park Service's 100th birthday. What a codger! In all truth, it is pretty darn cool that we've had an institution dedicated (more or less) to conservation for so long. But equally as cool is the legacy that the Service has built up in its century of existence. The United States' National Park system has been hugely influential in international conservation, serving as a model for other nations in creating their own parks systems. So for my contribution to today's celebrations, I thought I might take it a little sideways and share some images from the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Central_Kalahari_Game_Reserve">Central Kalahari Game Reserve</a>, a National Park in Botswana and the second largest game reserve on the planet. I was fortunate enough to spend several days there in back in 2014 as part of a college research trip.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Botswana/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFE86J2H7yeOJ_ipwH5I8oc7Xhv1_tbhTz9tdy8HLzMkIZcD-rw5TAdvLJCQ91XgxJZpzk3FMK_T0kjuVN54Fz8bjEwENjw1XaRoVDf8UWP0tNqcuBslkjF0E5oR1qwE6mapYS1eU_JMg/s1600/untitled+shoot-4984.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Botswana/i-z5z6NJK/A" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJHwLb9MpBy9-Czajb61Ai_5iRDeBhZwgGKikW_rg00SN8KyPL_z8siCVBD4gZ-tMBpVypEPLtrzhFfNs-d1lNCZcJB9wl7jzMdtcfwWY1dT_66bAbSZMHf-RJc5dYfH83GUgy-aTPD1U/s1600/untitled+shoot-4948.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
CKGR is a place where you can feel with your whole being the
heart-filling expansiveness of the morning sky. It's almost dream-like,
the abundance of space and life. There's an unbelievable remote feeling,
like what you get when backpacking, but for hundreds of miles in all
directions. Despite the presence of primitive roads, it's true
wilderness. As a testament to the sheer size of the park, just take the
fact that out there it was hard to find an elephant.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Botswana/i-X6PkxFb/A" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ZOCC7zA8SMwmUfOTWWRbBPg3rBRvF_qLL0tcFMJfL2ll757256GwvQ1fbwY6p_XIk8y5JuGrMPgWgMMJPePfY177GAb2NbLajC0dyqizChBs6t8JvhjRjhBW-YFQtiMQHxUuOWY5C1M/s1600/untitled+shoot-4687.jpg" /></a><br />
Just walking on the same ground as all of those incredible animals was
exhilarating, seeing Lion and Leopard and Elephant tracks in the dust
and knowing that they were out there somewhere living their lives in
accordance with their nature. You get this real sense of how inhabited
the world was before the spread of human civilization: every inch, even
in the arid semi-desert, teems with life. It makes you endlessly
grateful that there are still wild places. That there are still parks.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Botswana/i-rz79q76/A" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIlX7a16JaPYn8e7e3HLAzIYI1Ea6y1vIfjTOc4bWH1DiKRzlSGBF43bijV20vYRVHg7dKtD9K_ACsZmamd8qdaKnn4xxG_6fhr6_fwNuShdBZ043OOqsxFD3EPVLl9F2g8MMYBcc__YU/s1600/untitled+shoot-4836.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Botswana/i-5fSGSSq/A" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWexiskYrx2VEZUDBdppofFZiDgql0g_VsTnYCLEa_-J8cWrHE2wdLaXtXe0fL_F9oI8099-bFoh0OKMEskc99ZHJQ8Kc0KWOuqsoXjKolotdfAObUHLYHCNic03KtbCUGlsKVYyieei4/s1600/sprinboks.jpg" /></a></div>
So in thinking of all of that life, and all of the life around the world sheltered by the ever-expanding Parks system, I'd like to extend my own personal bow of gratitude to the National Parks Service and all of the people within it. Thank you!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Botswana/i-v4WNFc4/A" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ1pgRw8715S63RGBVUhqI-4xTW4zp0TYVlDC2fwnu7kP0RufhjcHCLeVS4-iB5BxX1phgqgELrGAbsd_sieTeBLR6ua_HnIKNWD_zUd4aUr0CoPNT9loIJR-H0_pGtFX90JQM3j5B23E/s1600/sundownafrica.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141450644447345554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1836708481204125453.post-7742676646545286392016-08-16T10:13:00.001-07:002016-08-16T10:27:34.045-07:00Mt. Ellinor - Perseid Dawn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Pacific-Northwest/i-Kn9vZdZ/A" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn_Ptb7BGQ0jBjheCEHXHVmq_qb4Zh_UNicVlQF3D_1m-2DR_YKM64pPbmkV4ezcXknRiEezmnZ2E3IaGjjz4LJHFMk4iGNltTpcI1KZa3qFjoKgHxRuGwc71UAZBd99sJh65TlQtiuz8/s1600/mtellinor-aug-9543.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Seen through the
windshield, first shooting star is precipitous, unbelievable. It
appears at the hazy edge of vision and even before my eyes in reflex
dart to see it it's gone. It is a thing of transcendental frailty,
like an orb of dense magic, or a grain of sand in some stellar
hourglass. And so come the rest, plummeting now through the
atmosphere in Jupiterian rhythm, the weight of their celestial
histories burning up behind them. Flowing eons in the comet's cosmic
stream ended now (for now) by the deep graviton tides of orbiting
Earth, strange new home.</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
How long is a
moment?</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
What is
impermanence?</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Look northeast on
a late summer night.</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the trail of a
falling star it's all laid bare.</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
moonless forest</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
dark flowers, above</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
comet's silent
stream</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Pacific-Northwest/i-gXBnbSX/A" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi20lWQJCf2S1qy74BFwObYQ5z12m06DOr-EwcgX470ElwAt6_22j2yDQn80TeMqt5GkdPgasRPM0RLujzOpBpDC1QLyLvnDwHGLzAisBFBegzeoMjU5CGfUYemr1HZ0OHd_ogIaf8XiEY/s1600/mtellinor-aug-9621-Pano.jpg" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
One-lane road,
headlit tunnel through trees, til trailhead. Sweating in the
torchlight, more climb than hike through firs, canopy only known by
the starlight shapes left uncovered by needly boughs. Suddenly whole
expanse of nighttime sound is laid out before me, twinkling
electronic moonlight metropolis. But trail kept up. Make peak as the
first predawn orange swell silhouettes Rainier. Not long til Cascade
sunlight crests radiant. Day.<br />
<br />
</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Pacific-Northwest/i-GBtHM5m/A" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUkhw0vl1M_je9ilIdGJwhtxfslDkpMIUX7iLCkssgLqvT5oM2WCeVb1pJZ6eHTWa-9v42Nua3VEGbJKH3kDA8dxspRzubB41V1pp_SMIXtcYk95q_Hwv364iPmO3xEgU_g_JTGaCJkGg/s1600/wildbeginnings.jpg" /></a></div>
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</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Mountain goats
lounge on Ellinor's shoulder, digging for food and cool earthen
relief, August sun's now blaring. Quarrels now and then arise
abruptly from obscure breaches of protocol, or simply hot blood, but
are forgotten just as quickly. Introduced Species. I wonder if they
feel how alien they are to this place? If they long for their natural
Northern Rockies in some vague way, for not having to dig away from
the heat quite so much. If they feel in that way the burden of their
presence here, the karma we've given them in our uninvited meddling.
They too were drawn here, by forces beyond sight, beyond memory, to
this strange new home.</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
last snowbank</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
resting under</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
goat's clever smile</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Pacific-Northwest/i-qbhV63S/A" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl7A37cQ3m1q5SrUXbiWPqtO6VkKIsB4qksEq03hcJiAc0xRch04ngfGRaP-qoeqMM7_P_4WSZn18_kH4P8fEV1C7PW3m5MM9VzKLbwpSoTp9VQM1k5L9Id_VfgHhhyPSLG3yXihL-GEU/s1600/mtellinor-aug-0034.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141450644447345554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1836708481204125453.post-976894260498789882016-08-10T11:55:00.003-07:002016-08-10T12:03:47.323-07:00Kalaloch Beach 4: Life all the way down<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Pacific-Northwest/i-LdwW587/A"><img alt="Tidal Stream" src="https://photos.smugmug.com/Galleries/Pacific-Northwest/i-LdwW587/0/X3/tidalstream-X3.jpg" /></a>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Out
over the treasury. Where creek & tide meet, ten thousand
sandstone coins worn flat & round, vast wealth of beauty. Stones
shrinking as we spread, like the snowmelt strength of creek's spring,
over this flat expanse, til only sand is left to be carried by the
swooning current's alluvial fingertips. Beach. The twice-daily winter
of low tide. Huge carpets of anemones huddle into themselves, colors
muted in the fresh air, while crabs watching winged shadows crowd
into the last watery cracks of the sea-stack rocks. With unfair power
we step carefully; in this place each inch could be alive, or more,
the only difference between object and organism, life and death, is
how closely we look.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Cormorant,
resting wings drying</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
--clap
of ocean spray!</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
already
gone.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Otters
play in crashing waves that would kill a human. The ocean's depths
churn on, unseen.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Pacific-Northwest/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxp6zgHdkCXvHPdVdGfJa8RY5rqNJGKDOJFCOy7YwHAsyNUpFAbzRcIkWf83rxGNlXSgNaEVsXS9PrvW9Is4o6OAFC4rhfOFougT9OFKc4j_6LAiDRVxv7QkNp02Dig3jAGRWGpfIkZt8/s1600/otterfeast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxp6zgHdkCXvHPdVdGfJa8RY5rqNJGKDOJFCOy7YwHAsyNUpFAbzRcIkWf83rxGNlXSgNaEVsXS9PrvW9Is4o6OAFC4rhfOFougT9OFKc4j_6LAiDRVxv7QkNp02Dig3jAGRWGpfIkZt8/s1600/otterfeast.jpg" /></a><a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Pacific-Northwest/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNRJxw5VcK8vGTX5SkmDWbxnWsXFr4nfP8x9b7xuirKO03mnAgGIaUPwm8AebMCRhvPZW6sEb5gsPbe79XbTlkKnIIjmdi44Dw8WLtrYuJd7z0Anpmw_lGtp0jXgs9M-1bgGyOkH3wBHo/s1600/sandstone.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Pacific-Northwest/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNNbqbufZbrFKF3LMdmzjOPNF5SM1jbs-_Pw8i_s9X4X-C8Dnt_XowVHYhzCvNushZPo8G3Os48NPrPS7-glVyB3MZUJ7qV0AaVAoI6wkRAx_bPOdttV43PWtKyvH-96ZHuvbN2cU5_s/s1600/tideslayers.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
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<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Pacific-Northwest/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Pacific-Northwest/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWFSMq8Vcs0v7LcboTZmfsYAqZicRSrqsX13u9-w5RBSaDlVNw6KLCPEN12clPNZ0aJRZATe5wM7it_pEqsrxZtMY0dS78Znpu_qD1gsKYSxyCBrT8vKzolw4vx15ytcILZ32ikhv8TuE/s1600/denseliving.jpg" /></a><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiErt4J75L0M_IhHiypSazRcvCfF9VxfWuD1ZDkQct7TezLV-hf38qH05K63HMFd99IwkTkB9jL_kU003NbzS1dwgxXja5R6GonBUfZhWsm8GULWrAsDWu2RirQXk2i_LvW7WFKAbABNEs/s1600/giantgreenanemone.jpg" /></div>
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</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141450644447345554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1836708481204125453.post-9993378927992989272016-08-08T07:18:00.000-07:002016-08-10T12:25:49.540-07:00Pettit Lake - June's Kiss<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/TheWest/i-D9NFSsB/A" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl5qt5U7Nr4Qcq8WZtbO7RNLr22p-ZmUxXNxI1lwgKOMnNjmzekWuSdRCF6_Ihu-KdhnxBdrMhvElx6fKYkpcyzbjJT7iJm7_MmETX-b7fUjX2JBQwh9KFKHJKd1cyoy5jEfGpYOOYrx0/s1600/juneskiss-2.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Took 3 passes to get
here: grand green valley, flat and flatter still cradled in the
granite pyramids of the Idaho Rockies. Camp found near Pettit Lake,
coaxed fire out of wet logs, a shelter in the small pines. One more
journey for the day: step 'cross sage flats, dirt soft with fresh
rain, flora adorned in green and gold. Clamber up hill, muddy feet
sliding in sandals, til view is clear to the two matriarchs of this
drainage, resting, like dear rivals, around the far valley. Yes, this
is a motherly landscape! Nurturing arcadia, swaddled in snowy peaks &
forest hills. Waters shallow and quenching, calm even in this
weather. I think of the Ocean, airless dark, opacity of depth. The
source of all life, yes—but in a hazy, nebulous sense, just out of
reach, like a father known only in the murky memories of infancy. But
here, with this wet earth between my toes, I know right where my
weight is resting.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
A few deer watch on
my reverence, cautious but not afraid. Mind flushed and clear. Right
here.</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
snow-driven peak
</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
blown into cloud--
</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
June's stormy kiss.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141450644447345554noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1836708481204125453.post-91071510238946120892016-08-05T10:13:00.000-07:002016-08-05T10:13:09.201-07:00First Steps: Olympic Mountains (Part 2)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidkGsP6utbKdJcocWvvU-xGq3_QvV9_2AvCBeBMk2IYx53nxB4O8812qDN-16GWBANy9m3jw7MRlf9ha0x8zVzr8X8-KDsK-YW7i8VX3olbzAQ2HIfilpCl291qbAroHGW6VAXpKqfcaQ/s1600/SkokoDuckJuly-8899-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidkGsP6utbKdJcocWvvU-xGq3_QvV9_2AvCBeBMk2IYx53nxB4O8812qDN-16GWBANy9m3jw7MRlf9ha0x8zVzr8X8-KDsK-YW7i8VX3olbzAQ2HIfilpCl291qbAroHGW6VAXpKqfcaQ/s1600/SkokoDuckJuly-8899-2.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>07/22</i></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Thunder at my first alarm—sleep in. All around, peaks receded into
white ceiling. As I hit First Divide, clouds clear and sun again
begins to fall through. Meet a ranger seen yesterday, now heading
back to station. The lightning was the first she'd heard in three
years—for a moment we share memories of stormy summers in the
prairies now far east. Under the weight of a pack, old homes even
farther away. But just ahead, Home Sweet Home Camp. Flowers' fields
flatness astonishing on these steep slopes. Fighting off new
nostalgia, trailed back into ancient shade.</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
old growths' great elders.</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
still youngest firs remember</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
before, after us</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="http://www.borrowedparadise.com/Galleries/Pacific-Northwest/i-LF3LQk6/A"><img alt="Passage" src="https://photos.smugmug.com/Galleries/Pacific-Northwest/i-LF3LQk6/0/X3/Passage-X3.jpg" /></a>
</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Thick in berry brambles, legs & feet aching, homeward dreams
prickling mind like down's tip through pillow. Years ago floods
washed streambanks out into steep ledges above rocks, danger growing
with fatigue. Still another two thousand ft. climb to camp. Rising
into clouds returning. Hope to sleep at Lake Lacrosse, but there it's
thick with cloud, misty rain so slight the lake's still glassy,
unrippled. The only evidence for it the fog's soft absorbing glow &
the sparkling cold across my skin. Wind lifting and dying, blowing
strange wispy formations across the land, oceanic droplets suspended
on the cold air, stolen from gravity by sun & breeze. From this
rain there is no shelter; I turn around to camp below the clouds,
another three hundred feet lost to Marmot Lake.</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Misty night, somehow</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
the few gentle stars above</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
alight without warmth</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZjxoRfKl0IZTPROMnnn0RMAD4msJiiKLd_UIQJCL9kh3_zm2nZOlNgvbTf-YEnKXpIlFqCwcYYm6ROvfuQjBWuHzDb0dFJKkgTWJwg2vzG-hlnccCZZhY7EuPPW235L4oC_UuynaxjJw/s1600/SkokoDuckJuly-8975.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZjxoRfKl0IZTPROMnnn0RMAD4msJiiKLd_UIQJCL9kh3_zm2nZOlNgvbTf-YEnKXpIlFqCwcYYm6ROvfuQjBWuHzDb0dFJKkgTWJwg2vzG-hlnccCZZhY7EuPPW235L4oC_UuynaxjJw/s1600/SkokoDuckJuly-8975.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>07/23</i>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Mosquito-swatting breakfast, will broken & resolve resolved, pack
filled for home. One last thing. I walk lightly with shakuhachi only
to the pass, scramble the wetgrass hill for a view of clouds breaking
over Mt. Duckabush. Play a song of promise to the mountains: the
impermanence of defeat. Bandana soaked in the snow-fresh
cliff-falling waters, body and mind hardened for the long hike home,
reverse last two days in a few hours. Above all, thinking of you.
Photos disappointing, but a certain release in having accomplished so
little. Not the fruit, but maybe the blossom.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10141450644447345554noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1836708481204125453.post-65185879548756412212016-08-03T11:31:00.000-07:002016-08-03T11:40:00.338-07:00First Steps: Olympic Mountains<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<br />
Early, never early
enough. Trailhead quiet save the talk of car-campers waking across
the road, voices soft as morning light. Sky clear, but weather
report said expect storms. Permit box empty & worry of crowded
trails growing, double check gear & out.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Skokomish – deer
steps</div>
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down on the sandbar,
nowhere</div>
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to be but right
here</div>
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<br /></div>
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Eyes, feet set
toward Nine-Stream, named, like most streams here, by explorers. Good
trail, well traveled—the old road of those first white-skins, a
path hoping for the mountains' heart. The peaks are sandstone,
not granite like the Rockies. It's softer—box canyons carved even
in thick forest. On a summer day, the wet of winter's rain's still
obvious.</div>
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<br /></div>
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One thousand
saplings</div>
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spring from mossy
windfall trunk—</div>
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time's branches
endless</div>
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<br />
Easy trail to
Nine-Stream, arrive still early afternoon. I soak my feet beneath cold falls, take a few
photos, decide to press on. Beyond the trail grows wild, winding up mountainside
through fir and devil's club. In the high forest unseen birds (learned
later, the varied thrush, <i>Ixoreus naevius</i>) sing a collective melody in solid pitches,
wondrous sound surrounding.<br />
<br />
Trail-beaten, weather worsening, arrive
at Two-Bear Camp below the pass. A few hours til dark, so slip
between trees and lightning strikes up to the pass, where for a
golden moment the sun breaks through, then plunges down behind cloud and
mountain and sea. Myself clambering back down the slick trail. Dinner in the
wet dark.</div>
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<br /></div>
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First night's
forlorn dreams--</div>
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pillows, dinners,
warm bed next</div>
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to you.<br />
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07/21</div>
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