To give thanks in solitude is enough. Thanksgiving has wings and goes where it must go. Your prayer knows much more about it than you do. Victor Hugo
Top photo: Sunrise at Apollo Overlook yesterday morning. Above: Sun peeking through red pines on the way to Cliff Tops.
Morning,
We had a beautiful day on the mountain yesterday. The high was 42. The low was 25. It was 25 and cloudy at observation. As I write this, the mountain is finally receiving SNOW again. It is coming down pretty heavily and looks like we'll have an inch or two by the end of the day. Daffodils two days ago, now snow. My time up here could be defined as a stream of unexpected daily gifts.
I'll be hiking around all afternoon getting as many pictures of the snow as I can. Today is the kind of day that makes me think of Thoreau's winters at Walden Pond.
"I love society so much that I swallowed it all at a gulp - ie. all that came in my way. It is not that we love to be alone, but that we love to soar, and when we do soar, the company grows thinner & thinner till there is none at all. It is either the Tribune on the plain, a sermon on the mount, or a very private ecstasy still higher up. We are not the less to aim at the summits, though the multitude does not ascend them."
We had a beautiful day on the mountain yesterday. The high was 42. The low was 25. It was 25 and cloudy at observation. As I write this, the mountain is finally receiving SNOW again. It is coming down pretty heavily and looks like we'll have an inch or two by the end of the day. Daffodils two days ago, now snow. My time up here could be defined as a stream of unexpected daily gifts.
I'll be hiking around all afternoon getting as many pictures of the snow as I can. Today is the kind of day that makes me think of Thoreau's winters at Walden Pond.
"I love society so much that I swallowed it all at a gulp - ie. all that came in my way. It is not that we love to be alone, but that we love to soar, and when we do soar, the company grows thinner & thinner till there is none at all. It is either the Tribune on the plain, a sermon on the mount, or a very private ecstasy still higher up. We are not the less to aim at the summits, though the multitude does not ascend them."
Sunset at Cliff Tops.
Bad moon risin'.
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