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The
ritual early summer hike, from
Tioga Pass Road to Yosemite Valley...we follow Snow Creek
down a steep, rocky, hot slope. I fantasize after a full
day of hiking, a vendor at the bottom of the hill. I can
almost see him--he is selling ice cold margaritas, accompanied
by soft tacos, sopapillas, and more ice cold drinks. I can
smell the sizzling meat, I long for the cold liquid on my
palate. I look down, and my vendor is gone. All I see is
water.
Water covers
the entire valley. I feel a shock course through my body.
Where is the Ahwahnee? Hey, I was going to have brunch tomorrow!
The gift shops -- I haven't bought my souvenir t-shirt yet!
What about my tent cabin (nested amidst hundreds) where
I was going to rest my aching body and bruised toe tonight?
All gone, underwater,
swallowed by a crystal blue lake.
Ah, but the
lake is gorgeous. It is quiet, peaceful, and oh, look at
the birds!
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I rush (carefully)
down the trail. A primitive kayak awaits me. I paddle the
cold, starkly clear water, and explore the nooks and crannies
of the granite walls. I drink of the waters flowing freely
down the walls. I feel refreshed, renewed, more alive than
I've ever felt. The clarity compels me to dive in -- I experience
a harmony with the lake, the sky, the granite cliffs. For
a moment, just a moment, I touch the essential unity of
all creation
and
then
on
a boulder above the valley.
My friends
stand over me as though I'm Dorthy returning from the land
of Oz. I had slipped, and knocked myself out on the cobbled
trail. They had poured cool water over my forehead to revive
me, and recounted that I had tried to drink hungrily, greedily
from that. But I remember the lake. I know it's still there,
in that stunning valley. I know the magic of the remnant
waters of that lake, and I smile with recognition and intimacy
at the streams, waterfalls, puddles, and pools still left
from that day.
I see the reflection
of Half Dome in Mirror Lake, and I see my own there too.
They are as one, those reflections, and I touch that moment
once again.
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