It doesn’t happen enough. There are not enough times in my life when I can say that I’m truly at peace.
But this past week was one of those times when I experienced tranquility. Calm. Serenity.
It was a perfect week. Blue skies with high white clouds illuminated my way. Cold mountain water refreshed my feet and cooled my arms and the back of my neck. Long hikes along isolated paths introduced me to scolding squirrels. Birds that I’d only read about in books perched just feet away, providing a visual and auditory bonanza of their vividly colored wings and melodious songs.
Yellowstone is a place of magnificent grandeur with echoing canyons and vast plains, towering lodge poll pines and powerful geysers. But it is also a place that requires the viewer to stop and pay attention to the details of miniature flowers in bloom, insects that take flight, and stones that reveal secrets from eons before.
It is a place in which you breath in crisp morning air rushing down from the mountains and go to sleep in the cool breeze blowing in off the lake.
It is a place where deer gather to eat the long grass. Elk find their way to a winding stream. Buffalo roll in dirt holes. Bears lumber past as if you aren’t even there.
It is a place that can be distracting as thousands gather in a carnival atmosphere to watch a well-timed water spout. But few venture to the deep, hidden places where solitude is found.
I’m two days back into the real world of work, bills, grocery shopping and errands. But the Peace of Yellowstone remains.
