Snowshoeing the morning after

Walking with dogs, I'm reminded 

it is the tenderhearted who know

how to turn this world

 toward the sun.

First snowshoe of the winter

Snow covered trees 

born on a hillside overnight

reach toward the pale December sun, 

like a prayer to the wrong god. 

Drop by drop, an existence trickles away 

until the next snowfall rushes across the land.

Northwest Wilderness Group

Shots from a second snowshoe hike the following day:

To understand the size and scope of Mt Hood, note the trees in the lower right hand corner of the second picture.

A View From Vista Ridge

You stand on a ridge looking east above the clouds. A sign, marking something about where you are, is there. But what does a sign know about where you are? 

Your skis lay at your feet. The clouds too. Icy volcanos, powerhouses for hundreds of thousands of years, lay dormant in the distance. You think how you, too, have become dormant. 

A wind blows across the ridge, intrudes on your thoughts. Your skis rustle on the ice next to you. You look out, toward Mt Jefferson, think how easy it was to shift into something else. The molten rock that once ran so hot beneath your feet, now cooled.

 Cooled, but not defunct. 

You step into your skis, point them downhill into the clouds.  

A dormant dream erupts once more.

   

Ho No!

What does it take to string lights on a 14 foot Christmas tree? 1 ladder, 1 trekking pole, 1 bottle of wine, 1 Monday Night Football game, 1 Blazer overtime, and 2 good attitudes!

Mo, after a little too much eggnog. ;-)