Spring speaks promises of warmth, whispering words in the currents of rivers that rise like smoke to the big sky. The sun, ablaze with the energy of transformation, glazes sultry light on the landscape. Feral rays slip freely between the fingers of the mountain fir and break the spell of silence, awakening carnal alliance. As blue lines course down mountainsides, swelling like blossoming wisps on the Cottonwood, a raptor returns to his peripheral perch—knowing that winter has surrendered to the assurance of spring.
And so we return, too, following the crooked trails twisting higher; discovering again the hush of a basin where a stream bathes an alpine lake in fresh liberation; answering the cry of the valley when its waters murmur. It’s time.