The Life and Times of the Plume

For weeks I have had the urge to sunset hike but I’ve been so obsessed with trail running that I’ve opted for high gear and big distance over peaceful strolls with my camera and the dogs.  Last night I finally committed to walking instead of galloping and up the mountain we went, step by precious step.  Can you believe how long the days feel already?  It’s miraculous.  The seasons are miraculous.

One of my favorite things to do this time year is lay back in the bunch grasses when the sun is swooping low and simply unleash the power of my senses.  I smell the earth around me, damp with snow melt and rainfall, musty with decay, and pungent with the greening.  It’s delicious.  I watch the sun in the grass and sage, see it straddle the ridge lines as it unwillingly gives night the upper hand, the streaks of color that lash at the sky and paint the clouds, a slow moon rising, alpine glow on snow capped peaks and a line of geese leaning North while they pepper the sky with disorderly order.  I close my eyes and listen to the birds.  I hear my first meadowlark, an owl down in the cottonwood creek bottoms, numerous other chatterings and chirpings, a woodpecker hammering and squawking at the inconvenience of low light, the screech of a magpie and robins galore.  If I listen closer, I hear the breeze in the grass around me, the sound of the dogs digging for voles, snapping twigs beneath their paws, panting and smiling with their fierce little fangs into the cold air.  I spread my hands wide and push my fingertips into the dirt and grass roots, connecting as much of myself to the earth as possible, the wind turns cold, I feel it raking my cheeks red, my hair is my eyes, my soul is untethered and drifting away like a winged seed on an infinite silk string.

We all go up on the mountain and turn into wilder versions of ourselves.  It’s why we go; to be unleashed from everything that has a hold on us.

I heard the meadowlark last night, the song that is the bright sign of all that is to come with the stretching newness of light during these limber springtime days.  Every heartbeat that thumps through the cage of my ribs and into thin air reminds me of the goodness of life, here and now, and always.  I’m feeling it all.