Getting Back

Harvey mountain has been there forever, another 900 feet in altitude from where we live. The last time I was there was probably ten years ago on a mid fall day, a little cooler than today. Instead of the slight breeze of today, there was a chilling wind driving light snow flakes into our faces.

Unfortuantely, that episode seemed to indicate how life would be the next ten or so years. Only steps away from the rush of a great view, and usually pushed back by forces beyond our control. We carried on, and we come to the beauty of this moment, where we are able to be on top, see the forest, the trees, the clouds,  feel the sun warming us, and the gentle breeze on today's mountain.

It was through the woods on the way up. We always wanted to do that. Over a little stream. Balanced with a thin walking stick. And it would be considered a moderate trail, but doable for us.

We were exhilarated by the view, the accomplishment of standing so high and so close. We walked over the line into Massachsetts, and the trees with knees as Phylls called them, were still there, growing toward the sunlight. We saw the splendid blueberry bushes which define the great summer festival in Austerlitz. We paused and looked south toward the Catamount ski area in Hillsdale, and northwest where the Empire State Plaza appears as a sparkling pearl. We took the logging trail three miles down to the car, a much easier descent than through the woods.

And finally home where I sit with my feet up, after a hot shower. I didn't walk alone; she was with me, the sun, the breeze, the joy of my life.