The air and light and sky are all different at Rock Lake in the Sierra.
You hang your bear bag at the lake (9600 feet above sea level) and run up the granite almost-cliff (carved sometime past by a glacier) boot soles gripping onto ancient rock, to pass before long the 10,000 foot mark.
Yes we watched the sky from there, but we were also in the sky.
The trees are so tall, and so still, and so deeply rooted. And yet the branches swirl away from their trunks, like a dancer’s skirts and arms twirling.
It’s a place to rest, and think without thinking, and talk without talking.
And write poems.