Tuesday, June 8, 2010

My Yosemite

For a couple of years in my late teens, Yosemite National Park was the place I called home. I didn't spend every month there, but I always returned from wherever I'd gone, and when I was away, I longed for the park.

Last week, after an absence of decades, I returned again. Walking through the valley I felt the years peel away. The dogwoods were in bloom, the waterfalls were thundering. The ice-streaked granite, the rippling meadows, the aroma of crushed pine needles underfoot -- all of it made me dizzy with memory.

For years I'd kept a little replica Yosemite in my heart, buried as deeply as a myth. Now I was in the real Yosemite again. It was no myth; it was exquisitely alive. The rains had long ago washed my handprints from the rocks, but I looked for them anyway, hoping there was still something of me here, awaiting my return.


bloglily said...

Oh, I'm so glad that's where you are! xo

polaris said...

Yosemite rocks! Some day, I wish I can go back and see Half Dome under a moonlit sky.

Tai said...

Polaris, I hope you do go back. Half Dome in the full moon is dazzling.

Thanks, Lily! It was marvelous and more.