Darkness, Light

It seemed the right thing to do—to climb a mountain today. Alone.

I find my grounding in nature. When I want to make sense of the world, when I want to catch my breath, I head outside. I don’t necessarily find answers, but I find everything. I find a world of extremes—beauty and disaster, darkness and light. The sweat of a climb, the chill of descent.

I left Chautauqua and hiked Green Mountain, over rocky steps with lookouts across the plains.

The sun never really broke through, but it tried.

This is not the time of year for bright colors. It’s the time for contrast; for black and white

and dark green in a forest of muted light.

The sky—it has its own palette of grays…

a halo of silvers

a platinum patina.

There is beauty in the cold December light.

There is some kind of majesty in nature’s black and white.

I find it every time I hike high or far; every time I run long miles in my own groove of solitude.

Researchers say we as humans find our happiness in that groove. Our groove. Our zone. Our flow. It’s not money that brings us joy. It’s not stuff. Instead, it’s the sense of something larger in life.

We don’t have to understand everything in this world. We never will. But we can try to grasp its enormity, its boundless beauty, even on the edge of darkness.