We headed toward an outcropping of rock. You said it looked like a place where people would gather. You were right, something about the way the meadow opened up to it, granite seats overlooking Foresta. Maybe you could feel it in the air, the gravity of moments frozen in time, settling in the brisk air. That was the thing about this place, it doesn’t have the grandeur of Yosemite Valley, just a few miles to the east. It has a more subtle beauty that has grown on me over the last few years. Often on my walks down to the Ranch and around the river, I have this strong feeling like I can feel the past, the many people who have lived here before me, I can see everything in geological time. Glaciers forming river canyons, carving out a hanging valley where I find myself spending my days now.
I sat feeling the winter sun on my face. Just listening to the wind and watching the Junco’s flit back and forth between trees, caught in some sort of afternoon game. It seems to me there are different kinds of ways to thrive. Sometimes it has to do with actually doing thing, achieving things, becoming more. And sometimes it has to do with letting go, and just being exactly where your two feet are in that very moment.