Monday, August 8, 2011


I fully understand why repetition is such a part of religion.  I walk these trails, swim these lakes, climb these mountains, and search this feeling out in the same order, every year.  It is my trip to Mecca, my cathedral, and my Wailing Wall. My pilgrimage begins in a drive to the top of the world and a small descent into a dimple in it.  My supplicant steps take me over the flats and to Ferron, Deep, Duck, and Emerald waters respectively.  I bow to the family trees and meditate in the fields of indian paintbrush and count my riches in the creeks running gold.  And the rhythm gained here lasts the pilgrimage is complete.

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