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New moon, next chapter. What goes up, must come down. These chapters about Yosemite are expansive, and yet I still don’t think I’m able to capture everything in my prose about that sacred place tucked away in the Sierra Nevadas. Still, I don’t think that’s the point, though. I think the point is to capture the Deerfield character of wild-eyed awe seeing for the first time such impossible beauty. It’s later in his legend that he becomes an expert in a place of such extremes.
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There, there, I pat my wounded ego reflecting on how I’m not one for small talk in front of something so holy anyway, so I give a little wave to the falls and continue my journey, smiling a sad-happy joy to have been spared a few minutes alone with the madness of all there is in the world that’ll outlast us. Another apple and few handfuls of trail mix and I’m up and over that life stream again keeping my eye on the sun’s passage between cloud and mountain, feeling light in my stride, though conscious there’s a rush to beat out night setting in.
Following cairn after cairn in this bare boulder back of a giant, I’m given preview to what true wilderness is, one wrong step and I’m food for the roaming mountain lion, but then I begin again to descend, and with every footfall I understand how those faces going down while I was going up looked so jolly and meditated. It doesn’t take much to bring back down, from the heights above, one’s own personal heaven. All you got to do is climb until there is no more climbing to do and from there take the time to take it all in, both heart and soul nourished upon its glory.