Sunday, August 30, 2009

Summer Fades, Autumn Colors Blossom!

Autumn coloration at Karasawa of the Hodaka Mo...

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It’s that time of year when the temperature slowly drops, adding a welcome crispness to the environs.  The mountain air is visible as a misty breath when exhaled.  Mother nature deposits pure, white, crystalline surprises on the mountain tops.  Extraordinary colors are born within the aspen trees and mountain foliage.  A magical time, of slumber and change.  The beginning of nature’s suspended  growth, a hibernation of beauty and beast.


In the mountains, it comes early, the end of August, beginning of September.  That time of year when a heavy wet snow can envelope your domain overnight, and be gone by days end.  A special time of year, cleansing and refreshing. 

My thoughts wander, taking me on a journey of times past.  Trails explored, high mountain bowels traversed.  Rejoicing in the wonder of natures own stimulating, dynamic, art.  Mountain lochs framed by newly formed ice, reflecting a kaleidoscope of color.  Pure, fresh and cold, the water makes it’s own prism of refracted light.  A spine tingling beauty, so magnificently exquisite it takes the breath away.

There are few places where the changing of seasons is so pronounced.  Punctuated with visual beauty and splendid colors.  A progression of time displayed in wondrous pictorial scenes.  When you add the magical sunsets to the canvas, the reward is stimulating.

A setting sun, lights the sky with embers of fire, coalescing in charismatic shades.   Shadows darken, accented by brilliant lavender, rusty wine, and subdued ochre.  The rugged horizon concealing a flaming sun, casting ghosts upon the elaborately colored foliage.  A far away wind stirs the fresh mountain top snow, swirling a faint pattern, like intricate lace, over the peaks.  The cold soaks through the bones, enlivening senses, awaking the spirit.  An experience, sensual and exhilarating.

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Saturday, August 22, 2009

The Inferno: Shiver Me Timbers, There’s Not Much Time!

This Mountain Dreamer, is testing out his sea legs. I've signed on as Second Officer and Navigator over at The Inferno. She's a blog ship of sturdy nature, fast running and sleek as can be. We're captained by the truly talented Mistress Bad Kitty, and chaperoned by The Pub Wench.

She's a vessel created and crewed by the members of The Artists Challenge and Dante's Pub. Her mission is to search for writers, poets, and artists of the word. Adventures are sure to be had, and valuable plunder of indescribable beauty captured. Please, come on over and visit me at my new play ground. I've posted a fun little story just for you.

The Inferno: Shiver Me Timbers, There’s Not Much Time!

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Worlds Precipice

Top of the worldLooking out from the worlds precipice, taking in the visions of beauty and wonder.  There is a humbling feeling coursing through my being.  I am but a tiny, nondescript, part of the world. When held in comparison to all the rest of creation, one can feel nothing but an appreciation of life.  To see all the majestic structures and creations below me, appear so small and insignificant, makes me marvel at the world as a whole.  An immeasurable collaboration of individually unsubstantial beings and objects.  When viewed as a whole, in cooperation with each other… there is a singular nobility. 

This is a view every living soul should experience, one that will no doubt leave a tangible mark on a persons thoughts.  To stand at the summit of a 14,000 peak, surrounded by a dark blue sky, accented with orange coral and purple clouds floating, seemingly right in front of you.  The feeling of being able to take a small step out onto one of those clouds, and ride the winds in style.  Looking down on the lush green of a valley floor, or darkness of forest trees.  The soft colors of earthen wonders coalesce perfectly with the vibrancy of a fire lit sunset.  A sense of serenity and peace fills my thoughts, and give comfort to a weary spirit.

The fragrance of mountain tundra, so unlike anything else.  Clear and crisp, punctuating the fresh air, untouched and pure.   The coolness of the wind on my face as I look north, facing the spirits of old.  The shrill warning of a Whistle Pig, concerned only with my proximity to its abode.  A loan mountain goat, picks it’s way across a cliff face, far in the distance, a picture of grace and beauty. 

Seems like a relic of the past, a fond memory, stored carefully away.  As personal and individual as that memory of a birthday or wedding.  Memories valued and treasured, like jewels in a vault, kept carefully.  Frequently handled, dusted, polished, and brought to a exquisite sheen. 

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