The Short View

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Yesterday I paid attention to the short view.  There were single toadstools along the side of the trail, red, yellow, umber, small pops of fungus from the green moss.  A toad jumped into the leaf debris on the side of the trail and stopped, under a pine bough, his mottled tan hide hiding him.  There was an occassional flower, creeping alpine plants hugging the lichen coated granite blocks on the summit.  The ridge walk from Mt. Hight to the Carter Dome Trail was cut into the moss and pine needled ground as if chiseled out with square spades.

But I drank in the long view too, especially of the Royce-Bald Range to the east of the Carter-Moriah Ridge.  Smaller mountains in a relatively wild area, they are seldom seen from White Mountain peaks, hiding behind the higher Carters.  Looking off to the east and south, I could see the Baldface Circle, the mountains of Jackson, the fields near the Eagle Mountain House where we spent the night.

Two days in a row of hiking, almost 19 miles, over 6,000 feet of elevation work, my legs are tired this morning, but my feet have stopped screaming.  I need new boots.  I need to plant beets and swiss chard today, getting the fall crop in.  Get the seeds in, reap the vegetables as the days grow shorter and cooler.  The short view and the long view, when we see what is right in front of us, what arises in the distance is just another view.