August 14, 2011. What were you doing?

(This is a journal entry from the morning of August 14, 2011)

It rained lightly through the night. Neither Jacki or I slept well. Around 530 the rain stopped and the moon appeared through a hole in the clouds. It was nearly full. I reluctantly crawled out of the tent in an attempt to make a photo. I rattled off one blurry frame before it disappeared into dark clouds.

Another slow morning. I wandered around to see if anyone might be up. All the climbers were still down.

The clouds broke apart by seven. I brewed tea and ate breakfast alone, Jacki was finally asleep.

Pika’s whistled to each other across the cirque of Lone Peak.

I hear these sounds. Trickling water from the melting snowfields. Echoing planes overhead. A bird’s song in the distance. Pika’s; chirp, chirp, and then a responding chirp, chirp… their call.

I see these things. Clouds floating in a blue sky. The haze from the previous week is gone. Dirty, red, tinged snowfields flow down from cliffs and in between them piles of talus. Pikas sprint from rock to rock. A robin hops along the grassy patches in search of breakfast.

Small yellow flowers hover above the grass. At an elevation nearing 11,000 feet stunted pines hang onto ledges in the surrounding cliffs. They are ragged and hardy. Columbines, Buttercups, appear in sheltered corners of the rock. Their coloring appears tired, but beautiful. The Bull Thistle has yet to bloom and grows defiantly strong despite the limited environment.

Shallow pools of rain water vibrate in the coming day.

Yellow, rust and brown lichen clings to the stone which is covered in red and green patina. A few boulders are made of diorite. I sit on one rock.

The trailing clouds above are releasing the last of their moisture. It does not reach me.

I hear muted voices rise from the fields of granite. It’s time to start the day.