This morning at work the past Summer replayed in my mind. So much happened in a short period of time. Then I come back to my surroundings. Working under huge silver firs. They stand majestically, long past a human life, until they too crumble into dirt.
When I step outside of my own mental chatter and view these monoliths I am reminded at my own impermanence. The challenges I face, melt away into the trail tread alongside these ancient 200+ year old trees. I smile at the absurdity of the human condition.
People hiking past us, are headed to Gothic Basic, Poodle Dog Pass, and the ghost town of Monte Cristo. They seem to all share a sense of adventure. I feel it to, but in my own quiet way on this new trail 6 hours from my home.
A week has gone by since arriving from Bellingham. The familiarity of our work is coming back. It feels good to be out of the office and earning our living, with my parents and uncle doing the work they have been doing since before I was born.
Tonight, writing in the dying light I’m at home in the front seat of my truck. The mess that is at times our lives can cloud profoundly simple things to be grateful for. Such as, the smiling warmth of my uncle and parents or that at 33, I am alive and happy, quietly reflecting on my chosen profession, while the soft white moon rises above the tree tops.