Mountain memory

Lost Lake, somewhere in Colorado

The first time I hiked in the mountains, I needed a break, so I laid on my back in an alpine meadow next to a melting snow cap. I was struck by the closeness of the sky, how it rushed toward my bare face, how the silence buzzed in my ears, how I could almost grab a handful of cloud and lick it like a tuft of cotton candy, how the dripping water formed shimmering ribbons coaxed away by gravity, gathering volume and speed, toward life below.

 

(I stole this from myself. I wrote it as a comment on another blog. Is that breaking some blogger bylaw?)