Postcards from Yosemite National Park

The smell of things on the verge of change hung in the air.  It is unmistakable.  The waterfalls that were supposedly down to a trickle a few weeks ago are now completely dry.  The river beds are practically empty.  And if they are not yet, they would be soon.  It is a time of bated breath, of silence, of anticipation of what is to come.  It is a moment of suspension in that sweet empty space of .. nothing.  Like the fading notes of music, you cling to its last reverberations before it is finally gone, as silence, slowly but surely, like the creeping darkness, descends.  

The camp closes today and one can sense the itch, the restlessness to get on, to move on to what's next.  There is a sadness in the transition too, I guess.  At least, that's how I feel.  The grass has faded, the trees are ablaze. The morning chill is rather brutal especially after days and days of what felt like a promising endless summer.  Some places have already shut down for the season - chairs turned upside down, windows boarded up, campgrounds eerily empty.  It feels somber, lonely and hollow.  Change is inevitable, palpable, but how or what is coming, no one knows for certain.

However grim you might feel about change, I hope you have tucked away enough of the warm, delicious stuff to tide you over.

From Yosemite Valley after two nights of sleeping in a bag and waking up to deer antler-fights...  Farewell, Summer. Welcome back, Autumn.