The World Exposed

Last week I enjoyed that rare in-between time in the mountains. The leaves have fallen from the aspen trees and willow bushes, but snow had not yet covered the ground. So I could see the bones of the land—how the aspens cluster together in groves, how the willows fill the valley bottom, how the ice starts to form on the creek and ponds, and the sharp outline of the mountains, especially Mount Meeker, its wide profile that is briefly pink every morning as the sun sneaks up from the east.

The rabbits can’t hide in the grasses that have gone to seed, nor can the turkeys that strut through the yard every morning pecking at the ground. The moose are more visible without all the vegetation that otherwise obscures them.

I keenly feel the loss of the leaves—on both the willows and aspens—because their leaves blowing in the wind felt like the world was alive. Now it’s the strong winds that remind me that the world is still moving, as I watched the pine branches swaying, like a conductor leading the orchestra. And I could see more clearly the few birds that stay for the winter—the steller jays, the ravens and crows—especially as they caught the wind and lifted off into the sky. It was the ravens that alerted me to the carcass of a large animal--probably a deer--that I wish had been hidden by snow in the meadow. The night before I had heard the coyotes yipping, so this was probably their kill.

The winds cleared away any haze or pollution, and the air was so clear it felt like the world was being illuminated, that everything was in extra sharp relief: the Highland cattle basking in the sunlight, one leaning over to rest his head against the other; the stark white trunks of the aspen trees; the white clouds that streaked across the sky, as if coaxing my eyes across this infinite expanse. It was still warm enough (in the 50s) that I could linger, listen to the ravens, trace the clouds in the sky, watch the fish in the creek dart away.

When I stopped on my walk, the silence was tremendous, filling in the whole valley. Mount Meeker was barren, its quiet presence looming over the valley. I could feel the stillness, as if everything was hushed before the turmoil of winter. I wanted to hang on to this peace and quiet, because I know it won’t last.

Comments

[shoney]

Beautiful photos and writing. Thank you.

[Kathy Kaiser]

Thanks, Shoney!