open to it all

Late this afternoon, on a walk across a high meadow on the outskirts of Bend, Oregon, I spied a series of lenticular clouds hanging over the mountains. These unusually-shaped formations are among my favorites, sometimes appearing as silky caps on mountain peaks or as UFO impostors hovering overhead. The air today is cool, fresh and highly scented by pine trees. There is a new thick layer of snow on the trail which appears before me like the sheet music of some modern piece, a staccato of notes formed by rabbit prints and other assorted small scurrying things. I breathe deeply and feel my legs taking me further into the interior. I tug at the hood of my sweatshirt and draw the strings tighter to stave the chill. Like a monk on a mission, I am off into God's country, so to speak, to enjoy its splendor.