[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
water. He was halfway up the steep Mist Trail by eleven. The smell of moss and
spray and damp humus filled his nose. Vernal Fall bellowed constantly on his
left, ghostly clouds of moisture soaking his clothes and beading on his face
and hands. He grimaced against the chill but refused to wear a parka or
anything else that would isolate him.
The wet dark gray trail rocks reflected the sky and became a somber orange-
brown. When the breeze blew thick fingers of mist in his direction, he seemed
suspended in a warm amber fog, the fall and weathered, moss-covered granite
walls lost in a general vaporous void.
_I saw Eternity the other night_, he quoted, and not remembering the rest,
concluded aloud with, "And it gave me quite a fright..."
At the top of Vernal Fall, he walked across a broad, almost level expanse of
dry white granite, one hand on an iron railing, and stood near the wide, sleek
green lip of plummeting water. Here was the noise and the power, but little of
the wetness; observation and immediacy and yet isolation. The true experience,
Edward thought, would be sweeping down the falls in the middle of the water,
suspended in cold green and white, curtains of bubbles and long translucent
vertical surfaces distorting all sky and earth. What would it be like to live
as a water sprite, able to magically suspend oneself in the middle of certain
death?
He looked across at Liberty Cap and thought again of the vast granite spaces
within the domes, unseen. _Why an obsession with places out of view?_
He frowned in concentration, trying to bring up the monstrous big thought he
had so loosely hooked. _Living things see only the surface, can't exist in the
depths. Life is painted on the surface of the real. Death is the great
unexplored volume. Death rises from the inaccessible_, depth _and_ death
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_sounding so much alike_...
There had been only three other people on the trail that morning, one
descending, two climbing behind Edward. Another he had not seen, a blond-
haired woman in a tan parka arid dark blue shorts lugging a big expensive blue
backpack. She stood on the opposite side of the granite block, looking over
Emerald Lake, the pool where water from 600-foot Nevada Fall rested before
slipping over the shorter Vernal Fall. She must have camped overnight, or was
perhaps on the morning leg of a long trek around the rim of the valley.
The woman turned and Edward saw she was strikingly beautiful, tall and Nordic,
a long face with perfectly cut nose, clear blue eyes, and lips both sensual
and faintly disapproving. He looked away quickly, all too intensely aware she
was outside his range. He had long since learned that women this beautiful
paid little attention to men of his mild appearance and social standing.
Still, she seemed to be alone.
Came that high, painful interior singing he had always known when in the
presence of the desirable and inaccessible woman, not lust, but an almost
religious longing. It was not a sensation he wanted now; he did not wish to be
seduced away from worshiping the land, the Earth, to focus on a single woman,
let alone one he could not possibly have. The woman or women he had imagined
the night before would not evoke this kind of response; they would be safe,
undemanding, undistressing. Quickly, with nothing more than a polite smile and
nod, he passed the woman where she stood by the bridge and continued along the
trail.
In the rocky tree-spotted upland meadow beyond Emerald Lake, he found a
natural granite bench and laid out his lunch of two processed-American-cheese
sandwiches and dried fruit, very much like what he had eaten on hikes in the
valley as a boy. Facing the white plume of Nevada Fall, still a few hundred
yards distant, he chewed crescents from a leathery apricot and brewed hot tea
on a tiny portable stove.
Someone came up behind him, tread so light as to be almost undetected. "Excuse
me."
He twisted his torso and stared at the blond woman. She smiled down on him.
She was at least six feet tall. "Yes?" he asked, swallowing most of a mouthful
of half-chewed apricot.
"Did you see a man here, a little taller than I, with a very black full beard
and wearing a red parka?" She indicated the man's height with a hand held
level above her head.
Edward hadn't, but the woman's worried expression suggested that it would be
best if he paused to consider before answering. "No, I don't think so," he
said. "There aren't many people here today."
"I've been waiting two days," she said, sighing. "We were supposed, to meet
here, at the Emerald Lake, actually."
"I'm sorry."
"Did you see anybody like him down on the valley floor? You came up from
there, didn't you?"
"Yes, but I don't remember any men with black beards and red parkas. Or any
with just black beards, for that matter unless he's a biker."
"Oh, no." She shook her head and turned away, then turned back. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. May I offer some tea, fruit?"
"No thank you. I've eaten. I carried food for both of us."
Edward watched her with an embarrassed smile. She seemed unsure what to do
next. He half wished she would go away; his attraction to her was almost
painful.
"He's my husband," she said, staring up at Liberty Cap, shading her eyes
against the hazy glare. "We're separated. We met in Yosemite, and we thought
if we came back here, before..." Her voice trailed off and she made a
negligible shrug of her shoulders and arms. "We might be able to stay
together. We agreed to meet at Emerald Lake."
Page 171
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"I'm sure he must be here someplace." He gestured at the lake and trail and
the Nevada Fall. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl exclamation.htw.pl
water. He was halfway up the steep Mist Trail by eleven. The smell of moss and
spray and damp humus filled his nose. Vernal Fall bellowed constantly on his
left, ghostly clouds of moisture soaking his clothes and beading on his face
and hands. He grimaced against the chill but refused to wear a parka or
anything else that would isolate him.
The wet dark gray trail rocks reflected the sky and became a somber orange-
brown. When the breeze blew thick fingers of mist in his direction, he seemed
suspended in a warm amber fog, the fall and weathered, moss-covered granite
walls lost in a general vaporous void.
_I saw Eternity the other night_, he quoted, and not remembering the rest,
concluded aloud with, "And it gave me quite a fright..."
At the top of Vernal Fall, he walked across a broad, almost level expanse of
dry white granite, one hand on an iron railing, and stood near the wide, sleek
green lip of plummeting water. Here was the noise and the power, but little of
the wetness; observation and immediacy and yet isolation. The true experience,
Edward thought, would be sweeping down the falls in the middle of the water,
suspended in cold green and white, curtains of bubbles and long translucent
vertical surfaces distorting all sky and earth. What would it be like to live
as a water sprite, able to magically suspend oneself in the middle of certain
death?
He looked across at Liberty Cap and thought again of the vast granite spaces
within the domes, unseen. _Why an obsession with places out of view?_
He frowned in concentration, trying to bring up the monstrous big thought he
had so loosely hooked. _Living things see only the surface, can't exist in the
depths. Life is painted on the surface of the real. Death is the great
unexplored volume. Death rises from the inaccessible_, depth _and_ death
Page 170
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
_sounding so much alike_...
There had been only three other people on the trail that morning, one
descending, two climbing behind Edward. Another he had not seen, a blond-
haired woman in a tan parka arid dark blue shorts lugging a big expensive blue
backpack. She stood on the opposite side of the granite block, looking over
Emerald Lake, the pool where water from 600-foot Nevada Fall rested before
slipping over the shorter Vernal Fall. She must have camped overnight, or was
perhaps on the morning leg of a long trek around the rim of the valley.
The woman turned and Edward saw she was strikingly beautiful, tall and Nordic,
a long face with perfectly cut nose, clear blue eyes, and lips both sensual
and faintly disapproving. He looked away quickly, all too intensely aware she
was outside his range. He had long since learned that women this beautiful
paid little attention to men of his mild appearance and social standing.
Still, she seemed to be alone.
Came that high, painful interior singing he had always known when in the
presence of the desirable and inaccessible woman, not lust, but an almost
religious longing. It was not a sensation he wanted now; he did not wish to be
seduced away from worshiping the land, the Earth, to focus on a single woman,
let alone one he could not possibly have. The woman or women he had imagined
the night before would not evoke this kind of response; they would be safe,
undemanding, undistressing. Quickly, with nothing more than a polite smile and
nod, he passed the woman where she stood by the bridge and continued along the
trail.
In the rocky tree-spotted upland meadow beyond Emerald Lake, he found a
natural granite bench and laid out his lunch of two processed-American-cheese
sandwiches and dried fruit, very much like what he had eaten on hikes in the
valley as a boy. Facing the white plume of Nevada Fall, still a few hundred
yards distant, he chewed crescents from a leathery apricot and brewed hot tea
on a tiny portable stove.
Someone came up behind him, tread so light as to be almost undetected. "Excuse
me."
He twisted his torso and stared at the blond woman. She smiled down on him.
She was at least six feet tall. "Yes?" he asked, swallowing most of a mouthful
of half-chewed apricot.
"Did you see a man here, a little taller than I, with a very black full beard
and wearing a red parka?" She indicated the man's height with a hand held
level above her head.
Edward hadn't, but the woman's worried expression suggested that it would be
best if he paused to consider before answering. "No, I don't think so," he
said. "There aren't many people here today."
"I've been waiting two days," she said, sighing. "We were supposed, to meet
here, at the Emerald Lake, actually."
"I'm sorry."
"Did you see anybody like him down on the valley floor? You came up from
there, didn't you?"
"Yes, but I don't remember any men with black beards and red parkas. Or any
with just black beards, for that matter unless he's a biker."
"Oh, no." She shook her head and turned away, then turned back. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. May I offer some tea, fruit?"
"No thank you. I've eaten. I carried food for both of us."
Edward watched her with an embarrassed smile. She seemed unsure what to do
next. He half wished she would go away; his attraction to her was almost
painful.
"He's my husband," she said, staring up at Liberty Cap, shading her eyes
against the hazy glare. "We're separated. We met in Yosemite, and we thought
if we came back here, before..." Her voice trailed off and she made a
negligible shrug of her shoulders and arms. "We might be able to stay
together. We agreed to meet at Emerald Lake."
Page 171
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"I'm sure he must be here someplace." He gestured at the lake and trail and
the Nevada Fall. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]