The weather is a fickle thing at this time of year. In spite of the promises of rain, we went. And it’s a good thing we did, because I’d forgotten. Forgotten how all it takes to come alive is to be let loose in the mountains. The intense perfume of evergreen and marshy streams and alpine flowers. The sky that is once blue, then gray. The wind that sculpts ridges, and draws lines in our faces.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *