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To the Cascade Range

Once again, they are calling. The stretch of increasingly warmer days has brought more people to town. And out of their homes. It isn’t that I dislike people, because I don’t, I dislike being surrounded by humanity in constant motion. The since passed winter traffic outside my bedroom window would be a welcome reprieve from this thaw’s newfound constant rumble. My bookshelves shimmy against the walls they hug. The string hanging from my desk lamp swings gently in shifts from 5am to 8pm. The vibration of humanity’s progress is constant.

So it’s time to pack up and leave. Again. I’m one week away from putting “home” in my rear view mirror for the next sixty-two days. I’ve got a route and a plan. It’s the same plan I’ve always had, no matter the season, no matter the duration – to Stay Away. To worship the spirit of the human animal, deeply. To let the dirt find its way back into my blood. To sleep restfully for the first time since last September’s fish camp. To stand naked on the edge of an alpine lake and laugh with tears of happiness.

To the high ground that reliably brings my summer legs back to life each and every year. Where winter hands transform to summer paws. Where pale and soft skin turns callused and tight. Where baths are few and always icy. Where there are no distractions. Where the fire, or the fishing pole, or the warm beer at the end of the trail, and people you share them with, are really the only things that matter in that moment.

The Cascades are calling

 

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