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There are other places in California -- places that represent
our ambition, our vanity, our intellect, our political consciousness.
But this place -- this place represents our soul. We come
here and, without purpose or deliberation, define our neoclassical
ideal, find our transcendental self, feel the pulse of our
Mother Earth.
It
is a place where we lose the distinction of teacher and
student and become simply two women sunning ourselves on
a boulder overlooking a pined valley, discussing boys, writing,
nature, possibility; become two girls losing the car keys
in knee-deep snow in the quest of the best snowball consistency,
cheered on by a solitary jay; become two human beings racing
through moonlight-lace, holding our breath to hear the ancient
whisper of stars, to listen to the sweet song of God.
Once
a teacher and a student see Yosemite's silver walls by a
full moon -- in magic light -- can they ever really go back?
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