the rocks seemed talkative

Yosemite has a certain fragrance, light and sweet; a mingling of the unmistakable scent of pines in alpine air, the gritty smell of sun-warmed granite and the fruity odor of the wild and curling plants that somehow inexplicably cling to the pebbled patches of dirt in the crevices between boulders. Hiking through this unfathomably vast wilderness where the visual beauty of the monstrously smooth, gently hulking glacial slopes to deep valleys and high passes is overpowering, the fragrance of the air can go all but unnoticed. Only when I stopped for a moment to observe the rocks (more shy to me in revealing their secrets than to one they trust more readily, with a more trained eye) did the fragrance of the air slowly seep its way into my recognition.

A little over a week ago I spent three days hiking in the wilderness of Yosemite, traversing those storied, stone strewn highways, amoungst trees with yellow flames of fresh bark running up their sides and the sweet, smiling granites, crisscrossed with quartz viens, glittering with micas offset by the deep black, hexagonal hornfels. To stop beside a quiet lake without a name and pump water, to meet a fellow hiker and his smiling faced wife and their tin cups, to traverse a mountain pass, to dive beneath the ice cold clear surface of a deserted alpine lake, this is what Yosemite is.


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2 Responses to “the rocks seemed talkative”

  1. Sab Says:

    awesome – pics?

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