Over the past few days of rain here in the San Luis Valley, the mountains got some of the good stuff. Few things lift my spirits like the first snow on the highest peaks. Fluffy clouds floofed around Mt. Blanca to the east, but storms swirled over Windy Mountain and the San Juans to the west. Naturally, Polar Bear Yeti T. Dog and I had to head out into October to carpe the diem.
We kept moving in spite of all there was to distract us. Sadly, I cannot share Bear’s copious impressions because they were mostly of the olfactory kind, but I took a lot of photos so what you get here is a chance to walk along with me, in a way. Among Bear’s impressions that I COULD recognize were dead and a living garter snakes, some deer poop, some residue of her own urine on top of some other being’s urine. Echoes of Teddy Bear T. Dog on a boulder in a parking pull out. Other than that, I can’t say for sure what caught her attention.
When I was a kid of 8 years old, I got a book called Something New Day. It was absurd, but a king, who was a tyrant, had to have something completely new every day when he woke up. Thinking about that yesterday (which I did) I thought, “Every day is completely new in its own right, if we get to see it.”
…Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquished one delight
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the Brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripped lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
Is lovely yet;
The Clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.
William Wordsworth, an excerpt from “Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood” (Source) if you want to read the entire poem which is lovely.