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.

3 comments:

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.