A Green and Pleasant Land

     I was born in a green and pleasant land between the mountains and the sea.

     Time and tide have swept me inland to a fruited plain where cornlands break in waves along the western shores of the horizon and the only mountains rise as brick and mortar pinnacles above canyons of business and industry.

     I often hunger for my homeland and when I return, a trip to the mountains stands as high on my list as a visit with friends and family. It is not gentle land up among the peaks of these ancient hills, but steeply fierce and rocky. Above it all, like a frosty old troll squatting over a nest of beaky squabs with its winter hair flowing down its back, around its shoulders and into its lap, looms The Mountain. Of course, the peak itself is illusive and is often cloaked in cloud as it was on the day my husband and I visited last week.

     We stopped at Paradise, a lovely alpine landing between the cold shoulder blades of the peaks, and hiked up into the flowering meadows with the sound of wind and waterfalls breathing in our ears.

Along the way, we met a few of the lodgers.

     After our climb among the creeping clouds and mystic mist, we sheltered among the giants in the forest. As is often the case, there is something about the enormity of creation that makes one feel smaller.