In The Eyes Of The Maker

Thoughout my travels in the Tasmanian wilds I was struck by a timeless spirituality that seemed innate  to those places. It opened my eyes to many things.

 

Oh, Oh Deep water
Black, and cold like the night
I stand with arms wide open
I’ve run a twisted mile
I’m a stranger
in the eyes of the maker

I could not see
for fog in my eyes
I could not feel
for the fear in my life
From across the great divide
In the distance, I saw a light
Jean baptiste
walking to me with the maker

 

Daniel Lanois  “The Maker”

Sunrise on Precipitous Bluff

From the Mt. Wylie plateau with the shadow of Mt. Wylie, the plateau ridge, and somewhere me on PB.

The Same Song, Sung A Different Way

As I head out for a day of hiking I probably have within a few hours drive enough choices of where to hike to keep me busy for a decade or two without having to spend an entire day on trails I’ve been on before. But I wanted a place nearby where I could generally repeat the same hike, a place that was pretty and varied, and a place where I could hike mainly in solitude. My reasoning being that by covering the same ground I could gauge how my body and mind was affected by changes in my starting  physical condition and attitude, gear I was wearing or carrying, the time of year, weather, etc..

 

I found that place and go there regularly, today in fact. But, instead of following my usual habit of getting the little fire in the engine of my body up and running, then flying around the hills all day like some kind of  wee trail beastie sprite  I decided to spend the whole time dawdling along, reading, bushwacking through the mountain woodlands, and indulging the naturalist within. I gathered spruce gum, looked at and photographed flowering plants, roots, and rocks, poked around vernal pools, watched birds, probed a variety of animal scats, and drank from  trickles and cascades. It didn’t hurt that it was also about a perfect day weatherwise.