Who matters who counts who walks beside you when the ground falls beneath you? The impressions the voices swirl like a boundary protecting you from hate. The writers who touch you, the first love who gets you, the mothers and fathers! Each and Every one! The day is the epic. The journey matters as it is all that we have. In walking find solace.
Mr. Muir was a pilgrim in the valleys and wrote of the silences.
“A queer fellow and a jolly fellow is the grasshopper. Up the mountains he comes on excursions, how high I don’t know, but at least as far and as high Yosemite tourists. I was much interested with the hearty enjoyment of the one that danced and sang for me on the Dome this afternoon. He seemed brimful of glad, hilarious energy, manifested by springing…….”
My First Summer in the Sierra, 1911