Leaving Lake of the Clouds, Sept 9
Breakfast at Lake of the Clouds. After working last night with Tupelo and Squirrel, spent some time watching the sunset and musing. Up today with a long line of hikers working their steps up to the summit.
Can't capture the 'feel' of the views, the feel of the landscape. Eisenhower and Franklin yesterday were spectacular - wind, rain and views. Can't give the sudden thrill of a patch of snow or a slowly appearing vista. Nor can I express the quiet satisfaction of watching a peak or valley ahead build, or ones behind grow distant as I walk a morning's walk. The climbs or descents have to have the sweat, the smell of skin and salt and sap and soil. The cadence of labored breathing and pulse give more to the blue of the sky or the white of the clouds. Something about the collective dirt on the boots, the blood dried and caked dark on a bumped shin. These, along with the play of cloud shadow on a hillside - the many-shaded greens of those expanses of tree.