This past week, five women and I packed up our warmest gear, our tents and sleeping bags, and headed 9 miles up the Railroad Creek Valley to Lyman Lake. The day was perfect- frost on the ground, sunshine warming the air, fall colors surrounding our wilderness path, and the company and conversation of good friends.
By the time we got to Hart Lake, it was snack time (pop tarts for me!) We basked in the sunlight on the rocks overlooking the lake, and shared stories, both of humor and of deep sadness. Stories of life and of love.
As we neared Lyman Lake, further up Railroad Creek Valley, we realized why Cloudy Pass is named as such (just beyond Lyman). Clouds filled the Lyman Lake basin and soon it began to rain. We set up camp, ate cold pizza for dinner, warmed up a bit near the fire, but eventually dove into Lori and Becky's tent for a reprieve from the rain, and a rousing game of BS. At some point in the middle of the night, the wind picked up and the rain turned to snow. We didn't get much sleep because of the windy racket, but were rewarded the next morning with a winter wonderland! (And yes, I sang the song as I boiled hot water for our coffee. I will take any chance I get to sing Christmas carols!)
We stopped at the lake to filter some water for the hike down. It was an amazing moment. The night's snow dusted the mountains around the lake, and sun was bursting through the clouds. And as we filtered water, Becky recited E.E. Cummings' "I Thank You" and I was moved to near tears.
I Thank You
e. e. cummings
I thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any—lifted from the no
of all nothing—human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
We hiked back to the village in the warm sun. Girls' Night Out, Holden Village style.
This makes me think of a Mary Oliver Poem:
ReplyDeleteSleeping In The Forest by Mary Oliver
I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.
I love that e. e. cummings poem!