The following is from a journal entry from last summer dated August 17.

It was a short scramble above the lake. Center Basin, lying above the John Muir trail and directly behind the Eastern Sierra’s spine of granite, provided us with a ledge beneath the great expanse that makes California’s Sierra Nevada.

On an ancient granite boulder, sitting and drinking maté, I thought to myself how truth lies within the simple and oldest corners of our Earth. It is not found among people but the towering and crumbling rocks, eldest rivers flowing from melting snow and ice, amoeba like clouds briskly moving across the sky.

A pink sunset emerges from an orange introduction. Light dances across the lake’s wind ripples, day’s end is a gradual and lovely performance. A cool breeze kisses my face as another day in my life concludes.