ambitious_wench

I'm sitting at the foot of a granite slab, perched on a small flat stone. In front of my computer screen is an old rotted log... sitting on the top of the wathered wood is a small twisted branch of manzanita wood. I'm sitting above the trail to the Ahwahnee, having taken a detour to explore a pile of boulders. too my right are ancient Live Oaks, one of which drew me upwards over the massive boulders. It beckoned me with huge branches, springing up from the base of the tree. I've yet to reach it, because my backpack was too heavy with this computer for me to climb safely.

Huge clouds roll over me on their way nmorth, and I can catch a glimpse of Glacier Point above the trees in front of me and to the south. I caugt a view of the top of Yosemite falls to the west as I climbed, all awash in sunlight.

Sunlight is abundant here. It's painful to the eyes, and burns through clothing. I'm reminded of the description Pratchett made--light in a strong magical feild slows down, sloshing like a liquid and draining slowly at the end of the day. Strangely apt in this magical place.

I'm off to visit that Methuselah Oak.

And so I have made my way to the Ahwahnee, having visited the methuselah oak. I work in a little less than three hours, and will be working until 11:30 tonight, once more. Tomorrow I am going up to Tuolomne meadows.

I'm watching the play of light out the huge windows across the lounge from where I sit. Clouds are passing overhead, trailing shadows across the valley beneath. Muir was fascinated with cloudland, but I'm more interested in their shadows, and how they play on the landscape down here.

I've grown so used to sunlight that even indoors, I am alerted to clouds passing by the shadow they throw.

Days are noticably shorter, now, too. Autumn isn't far away.