Why go to the mountains?
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Why go to the mountains?
My mountain summers....
Mountain mornings, crisp, chilly, the days are long and blue. The air is clean, clear, the clouds cast shadows that you watch as they travel across the landscape. In the evening, a fire is on order, the smell of wood smoke drifting after you. Picnic-like against the growing chill, you sit around the fire-pit, bare- legged, wrapped in blankets, seeing a million years of starlight as you have never seen it before. Shooting stars are regular, away from city lights. But still, so appreciated.
The old farm house on route 40, tractor trailers running through the night, 4 big beds with heavy quilts and sink-in mattresses. Comfort beneath the weight of cotton and down. The old apple tree, fruit falling, rotting...ammo. The horses fenced beyond the garden, riches from the earth. Sox walks slowly, old, along the irrigation canal as you look at the mountains, Timp, the hot pots.
Young, summer in the mountains. Cousins and aunts, grands, siblings. So much bounty, so easily bored. You go back in your mind, as you sit by a fire, in a canyon, at a park, by a river, on a lake. Wherever you can find that sky, crisp, clear, starry. With wood smoke drifting after you.
So tell me, what would bring you to the mountains in the summer? The arts, music, bikes, hikes...family? How do I coax you to find your version of this peace?
Mountain mornings, crisp, chilly, the days are long and blue. The air is clean, clear, the clouds cast shadows that you watch as they travel across the landscape. In the evening, a fire is on order, the smell of wood smoke drifting after you. Picnic-like against the growing chill, you sit around the fire-pit, bare- legged, wrapped in blankets, seeing a million years of starlight as you have never seen it before. Shooting stars are regular, away from city lights. But still, so appreciated.
The old farm house on route 40, tractor trailers running through the night, 4 big beds with heavy quilts and sink-in mattresses. Comfort beneath the weight of cotton and down. The old apple tree, fruit falling, rotting...ammo. The horses fenced beyond the garden, riches from the earth. Sox walks slowly, old, along the irrigation canal as you look at the mountains, Timp, the hot pots.
Young, summer in the mountains. Cousins and aunts, grands, siblings. So much bounty, so easily bored. You go back in your mind, as you sit by a fire, in a canyon, at a park, by a river, on a lake. Wherever you can find that sky, crisp, clear, starry. With wood smoke drifting after you.
So tell me, what would bring you to the mountains in the summer? The arts, music, bikes, hikes...family? How do I coax you to find your version of this peace?
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“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn.”
― John Muir
Here are 70 more quotes by Muir.
http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/5297.John_Muir
― John Muir
Here are 70 more quotes by Muir.
http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/5297.John_Muir
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""So tell me, what would bring you to the mountains in the summer?""
... last summer it was an interest in hiking to a peak plenty higher than any point in 36 of the U.S. states. That it was mid-August and I found a small patch of snow up there even then, was plenty of evidence that I was wise to be there in "summer".
(and I'm sure this is a silly thread)
... last summer it was an interest in hiking to a peak plenty higher than any point in 36 of the U.S. states. That it was mid-August and I found a small patch of snow up there even then, was plenty of evidence that I was wise to be there in "summer".
(and I'm sure this is a silly thread)
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I like that last comment...This is really not about Mohammed or crossing the road. I am the concierge, of sorts, for a vacation rental company in Utah and really wonder what would appeal to people for summer rentals.
That patch of snow is cool. I used to come here summers from Connecticut, with family. So I do wax poetic with memories. Because I live here, and my memories are from staying with family, I don't really know what would bring a person here. Other than the peace.
That patch of snow is cool. I used to come here summers from Connecticut, with family. So I do wax poetic with memories. Because I live here, and my memories are from staying with family, I don't really know what would bring a person here. Other than the peace.
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