the girl who fell in love with waterfalls

IMG_20160523_082756245this is how I look as I set out in the morning. AHHHH!

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due east, toward the sierra for a stop at my childhood home in the foothills. it’s perfect and lovely.

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rolling through more golden hills, south on hw49 through the motherlode. I always know that right outside of groveland there will be a field of bachelor’s buttons, and it will make me weep.

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treasure box on wheels, carrying jewels, looking for a rainbow.
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a little crumpled, needing rest, still utterly perfect.
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our first stop. they are immediately at wild play: hot lave tag and stick collecting.
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larkspur in the valley
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smitten.
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he must have picked up 100 sticks.
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greeted by familiar faces.

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one momma, one massive tent: only a slight aggravation to set it up. 🙂 (leans over and kisses capable forearm)
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bleeding heart, bleeding heart, my beautiful bleeding heart.

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the good life.
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a little amanita fun-gi!

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I had a dream—
in my dreaming mind I heard someone call me a strange psychedelic flower.
my ex husband and I were riding a gondola over an ethereal blue sea,
I held out mushrooms in my palm, shrivled and dried and full of power, stained blue.
he smiled, indicating to me he already had some….
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valley azalea
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moss villages on talus piles, rolling rocks gathering moss.

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snack cave, little squirrels.
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proud momma
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climb every mountain, ford every stream, follow every rainbow, til you find your dream…
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utter triumph on the top of the world. 1000ft gain, strenuous. in my mind we’d picnic when we got to the top; i’d pull some tarot cards in some granite love ceremony. we just ate our sandwiches instead. 🙂 these two have made me very physically strong. this hike has whipped me in the past but I hardly lost my breath this year.
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just about my whole world. my lights and teachers and ever-flowing love.

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(white male botanist name)’s penstamon.
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indian paint brush
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red fir, moss village, old growth.
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?  the world glittered and all was green with the drizzly and sunny skies.

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they don’t hike. they play and explore and I watch them, pulling out my journal when I think they’ll stay in an area more than a few minutes.

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mmmmmmmmm  hhmmmmmmmm
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light saber made from a stick and my bandana. 🙂
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mariposa lily
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post hike Yosemite shakshouka

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shuttle rides. they wished for suckers at the top of the waterfall. who am I to deny the power of the goddess?

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meadows filled with budding milkweed—- saw monarchs fluttering around, making my heart flutter.

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early spring in the high sierra, phlox.

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we hike into a cloud.
sentinal dome is barely 8000ft, 4000ft above the Yosemite valley (which was sunny and warm when we departed) but still I think of jon krakauer on Everest as the storm hits.
white clouds swirl past quick as smoke, cold as snow–
my favorite heart-bursting-mind-scrambling-question-asking vistas are obscured,
but I can see my beloved falls and domes peeking as clouds fly past.
thunder drums all around us in the cold cotton candy sky.
the wind threatens my hat, I swing up with instinctive speed to grab it, just as that same gale nearly topples my balance as I over-correct; I feel as though i’m going to tumble off the cliff and I loose my breath…
it’s exhilarating,
i’m whooping and hollering because i’m so excited—
keeping near my kids who’s eyes are bright and faces alert,
keenly curious yet aware of their environment..
a grand adventure in the tempest.

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we followed this ranger around for a bit, talked plants and nature work. she raised her two boys in the valley while working in the park. (gears turning.)
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how I feel: struck by high amounts of earth magic. a little scorched, totally breathtaking.

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descending the dome.
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I feel at my truest here: I consult my heart, using the cards as a mirror. I see my biggest conflict is limiting thought patterns.
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forget me not, I would never.
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the walls covered with rainbows of flowers : mock orange wall flower deer brush electric lupin, flowers I want to stop for, touch every one.

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out of the high sierra, into the strange and scrubby lower elevation chaparral that evokes strange day dreams: what is this place?

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i’m still in all of my layers. i’m hot, and the crickets are singing us home.

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could life be like this always? how many times have my children heard me day dream about that westy, about the tramp/momma bear life? getting closer, I can feel it…. Yosemite, thanks for the clarity, the adventure, and helping me see life for what it really is: a grand and loving adventure. til next may….

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