It’s currently 31 degrees and dark outside. Skies were clear at sunset but a strong wall of clouds could be seen building in the southern skies. There is still lingering snow on the north side of Mount Le Conte.
The conversation ended. My throat was dry, sore from a long string of conversations totaling eight hours. The day drifted by easily in the warm breeze. My thoughts were anchored to the present moment. I barely noticed the passage of time. Standing at sunset, I watched as a menacing crew of clouds built in the distance. What would they bring? The rhetorical question slipped out into the calm air. Laying down on the warm slate, I closed my eyes and imagined the clouds rolling toward my sun spot. The dark moody complexity engulfed me and the mountain. I opened my eyes to see what was unfolding. My imagination had gotten the best of me…
The clouds built quietly in the distance.
Many of our greatest American thinkers, men of the caliber of Thomas Jefferson, Henry Thoreau, Mark Twain, William James, and John Muir, have found the forest and effective stimulus to original thought.