The water from the lake barely ripples. There is just a slight breeze, a few distance clouds. Blue saturates the sky, a clear color I haven’t seen for years. At this elevation, 8500 feet, give or take a few, the dust and haze of the valley hover far below, leaving no filter between me and the wide expanse above.
Pine trees enclose the small lake like a protective, natural fence. From my seat, on an outcropping of boulders, the world is a pristine and perfect place.
The climb to this tiny utopia had been an exceptional elevation change for a desert dweller like myself. (I live around 1200 feet above sea level.) My lungs had worked hard to squeeze every molecule of oxygen out of the thin air as we hiked the sharply angled trail.
Sitting, with the silence as our only other companion, a kind of peace settles, filling in all the cracks and chinks of my worn out psyche.
Nearby a flutter of dime-sized periwinkle butterflies hover just above the ground like miniature flying bouquets.
I sip some water, crunch a couple of peanuts. Let out a long breath of contentment and calm. My muscles have a hard-earned ache that let me know that, yes, I am very much alive.
The clarity of the blue above me works like a lullaby. I am entranced, enchanted and captured by tranquility’s warmth. The weary, jagged parts of me begin to mend.
Leaning back on the boulders, I close my eyes. The sun brushes my face and whispers.
Mmmmm. I need a hike.