We are in in a gorgeous spot, where quiet harmony is seasoned with the call of the various birds. The first morning’s pastel light has made its way through the silhouettes of the canopy of tall majestic pines, which dwarf all of us below. Splotches of golden clear light paste a glow to each bush that it touches, a splotch here and one over there.
Rolling over, looking out the screen of the tent, I see the northern slope of this treasure, turning fully golden. Golden rose, golden yellow, translucent golden greens in a myriad of shadows. Beams burst through at intervals. I lay blessed. “Whoah” escapes from somewhere deep in consciousness and falls from my lips.
From a deep sleep, into wonderment, I grab my camera. I’ll seek an attempt to capture a piece of this, all the while knowing that I have no way of doing it justice. I have the sense of that energy of the first morning’s light, which all life seems to know. That energy that makes birds sing, sex arise, wakes the sleeping rabbit, flowers unfold and comforting warmth begins to grasp us all. Can a photo truly capture these new beginnings?
…The show is over, I squat and crawl into the small opening in the mesh, which is made by the familiar sounds of that zipper. I do all that I know to not disturb DF as she sleeps and rejuvenates the tired sore muscles from the previous day. Her determined flight into her disturbed dream, that must be completed in its haphazard way, draws her away and she only briefly notices. We rest together some more.
Wandering in paradise, we tend to campsite chores. DF pours and scrapes the honey and almond butter over whole-wheat tortillas. …