Sub-Alpine

The road turned to mush as we escalated. All four of us in that non winterized rental, a VW Golf. I looked down at the holes in my converse knock off's - Happy that I at least remembered to wear wool socks.

The Misty Mountains were revealed when the cedar, fir and evergreen cleared. The smell of the wood, fully enchanting, and the blanket of snow covering all the eye could see, so magically white. The sound of baby streams of fresh mountain water struggling to break free from the mounds of ice deafened me to the tourist made noise pollution. I closed my eyes - Imprinting those mountains on the inside of my lids, I breathed deep, the freshest breath, hoping to attach that smell to the memory, the deep woods.

I thought back to the song we listened to in the car ride up to the Sub Alpine, A Journey through the Past by Neil Young as I leapt from one snowy foot print to another, thinking about all the journey's that had begun and ended in that exact spot. This had all been seen and felt before, but never by me. This was the very first from my very own eyes.

The Chill, like the fog, crept in off the lake and got straight to our bones.

I questioned my own eyes and the importance of what it all meant to me as we descended. Excited chatter filled the car on the way down as we each tried to explain what we saw and express how it made us feel, individually, influenced by our own walks of life. In our first hand witnessed accounts my brain toyed with their similarities and variances as it played that familiar Neil Young song in the background.

My soul unusually warm in the blustery weather - the cheery pink frozen on my cheeks. I listened, Ingested and shared.