I drove north to Oregon to visit Michael and Michele and had a wonderful time. Part of me remains there with our three long shadows on the road as I drove east to Montana.
Yesterday, I came to the outskirts of a national park called Glacier. I rose in darkness this morning so that I and the rising sun could be on the trail together. I’m pretty good at starting early. Going into the world before dawn usually provides a settled and unpolluted start to the day, ready to watch it unfold.
I’d rather tell you that I got to Logan Pass and began a
lovely morning hike with sunlight on the peaks and birds serenading day as I sauntered
along the trail. Instead, I missed the
news that came around 8am, saying that the road to Logan pass is closed because
it snowed up there and then the snow melted, and in the night it froze into a
slick, solid ambush for any car driving there.
The road was closed.
So I came back down, taking a couple of short hikes along the way and taking pictures along the road. Morning is still the best time, even when it turns out like this.
Dear Sharon, happy to hear from you, life is so full of the unexpected this is a perfect illustration of the way life works... and you did take beautiful pictures... Looking forward to your adventures and many open roads. Love that you stopped to visit friends... tomorrow morning your tanka on anticipation will publish hopefully, and Stevie Strang took up the challenge of illustrating, so in the morning hours, that anticipation, enhanced by the long way around, as you say in your poem...will be fulfilled!
ReplyDeleteI see that it did post this morning, Kathabela. “Solo Bird” by Stevie Strang perfectly matches my poem at http://coloradoboulevard.net/poetry-corner-anticipation/
DeleteI am "housebound" today in a way, here in Whitefish, waiting for the road to clear of ice. An unexpectedly early and fierce storm on Sunday has frozen Glacier Park, in a way. Oh, part of the Park is accessible, but the high country that I long to see is pretty much socked in. So I will play around and stay around this town of Whitefish today.
The “Solo Bird” and I must wait until our gratification comes.
Hi Sharon, will you be back in time for the next Wide Open? To tell us your stories of the icy, snow world. Elsa
ReplyDeleteNo, Elsa, (I assume you are Elsa) I will not return until late October. Perhaps in November I can tell icy stories in person. Until then you have the blog. Thanks for coming here. Sharon
DeleteOf course you made postcard perfect photos literally on the go but I especially note the elongated 3 shadows on the wooded path. And the fact of seeing * feeling the power of the breakaway glacier must've been awesome. Thanks for sharing your trials & tribulations & I compliment you on your physical stamina. Glad you're in perfect health.
ReplyDeleteThanks Alex for your kind remarks. The rewards have been greater than the trials & tribulations and I am very grateful for good health that allows me to get into trouble sometimes.
DeleteGlad am I to be reading and relishing in the lovely images you so artfully capture with your camera and witty writings. (I especially love the elongated shadows that beg to have poetic inclusion) Here am I in cozy mountain cabin with pilot light lit for the first time in months so I can brave dropping night temperatures and rise to drought-ridden California's hot temperatures approaching this coming week. I am trusting that the generous sun will find its way to heightened icy places above Whitefish so you can 'rise' to the occasion in typical 'Sharon' fashion.
ReplyDeleteTemperature has risen here, too, Junnie, as there. The road is now open, and before the sun rises I will be nearing Logan Pass Trailhead, ready for a day in the high country. Coffee is good here in the darkness or predawn Whitefish, MT, and the day promises to come with good gifts.
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