ultratransparent spring water rippling in superabundant sunshine, surrounded by flowery grass scattered with orchids, beech trees dripping with moss, ferns, and mushrooms. Vast walls of marble, quartz, and granite extend huge arms across the sky, making a bowl, and we sit like sapient specks of dust in the center. We walk on a vast field of rocks that have fallen from these raw heights and come to rest in this exact spot, where the foot falls. The nuclear furnace around which we orbit clocks its solstice path and catches the ragged edge of the ridges and marks out valley-marching shadows the path weave in and out of, the disc of the sun sparkling along the battlements. At the top, a waterfall over bare, shattered rock, dashing into a stream overpowering in its purity, mist washing over skin hot from the long, scratchy climb.
A Quick Note on Quicksand:
Clambering through paths of mud and roots, vegetation leaning in all around us, finding my first quicksand -- really, a sort of pudding with enough sand to hold up a seemingly stable surface, butt soft like a custard and quite deep (this one about a foot deep, enough to easily suck your shoe right off). Poking it with my walking stick, it wiggled like jello setting in the fridge. Almost an organism in its own right, a tricky fairy to keep the unwary from venturing too far into woods they're not prepared to deal with.
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