One Day Closer

A Tumultuous Tuesday

To me, Mondays are a day of reflection and recovery both mentally and physically. Because I drain every ounce of pleasure that life can possibly serve up in the 48 hours that are Saturday and Sunday, the first segment of the day is a mix of physical revitalization and a psychological transition. The mental transition is perhaps the most strenuous, it is for the most part an intangible feeling of emptiness. A cleansing of the mind that has left a void that was filled with the weekends excitement. The physical beat down that the barrage of vigorous competitive activity has dealt my body will taper over time. As the day marches forward, and the usual repercussions of reality start to eat away at my very fiber, I start to plan the evenings activities and beyond. By mid day Tuesday, I am already starting to feel that postal switch start to toggle. I am closing in on 48 hours of aimlessly walking through that mine field that was Monday and Tuesday.

So Tuesday Rolls on in

Because it was the evening that bears full disclosure, the usual AM run and mundane events of the day will NOT be relived.

The afternoon started Parking at Onota Lake under the warmth of the late day brilliant September sunshine. The lakes are my sanctuaries, there’s a vibe, a radiant sensation of peace and tranquility. I immediately get energized by the run out over the causeway with the warm glow of the sun still abundant, the ducks fleeing from the rocks as I pass by and the scores of fishermen basking in the simplicity of life. On this day, a Great Blue Heron suddenly descended from the sky and gracefully settled down onto the marshy waters that border the causeway. The causeway serves as the last outpost of structured life that borders that safe haven I call nature.

Entering the State Forest has that unmistakable sense of leaving civilization embarking on that connection with nature. The trek up the access road en rout to the summit is when the mental cleansing begins. All of the pain and stress of reality melt as the physical burden of the vigorous ascent take hold. As I broke free of the tree line and was drenched in sunshine once again, The jubilation of reaching the summit culminates in a breath taking vantage point high above the Mohawk Valley. The clear sky and sinking sun were majestic. I walked over to berry pond and just sat on a rock and watched as the tranquility of the still water was enhanced by the shadow of the dense tree line gaining momentum. I tossed a stone out into the water and watched as the glass like surface surrendered to a cascade of ripples that emanated from the impact and slowly dissipated back into its original state of silence. If only I had that special friend to share in the moment. The moment was suspended in time. To have shared the transition into darkness sitting on that giant stone next to a close friend. The beauty of being alone had it's own special significance. My thoughts were mine, and they were free to run wild. Not to be obscured or manipulated by the possibility of the incongruousness of another. It was so wonderful.

Returning to the Jeep brought back that sense of societal disorder that I had vacated for what seemed like eternity. The Jeep however is not only my functional vehicle of necessity, but my vehicle to once again escape reality, this time not by way of foot travel.
Potter Mtn. Road has become a refuge of escape lately due to it’s proximity to the PSF and its inherent lack of the general public. A large part of this is due to its extreme rough terrain rendering it impassible by anything other than off road vehicles and occasional hikers.
The time was fast approaching sunset and the dense canopy of thick Forrest made any viewing of the setting sun nearly impossible. I promptly engaged the 4 wheel drive and made a westerly course up and over a power line easement to a clearing overlooking the entire Taconic Range just as the sun was sinking below the horizon. Bruce Springsteen was playing streets of Philadelphia as this solar marvel unfolded before my very eyes.
The crisp grapes and Pinot were the perfect compliment for this spectacle of nature.
There was only one thing missing....

On The Brink of Synchronicity

As the sun lost it's inevitable battle to the horizon giving way to nightfall, a new day was breaking in the Western Hemisphere. A sunrise of 6:43 and a sunset of 6:47 was a sure sign that the planets were nearing that point of equilibrium and balance when the source of all being makes its journey to that path that nearly traces the equator. As I stood looking out over the lush spring fed gorge that carved a deep valley through the heart of the mountain range that earmarked the Pittsfield State Forest, dusk began to settle in. The dry autumn air that had bathed in a sun drenched clear autumn sky began to fall prey to a cool crisp northerly whisper of wind. The atmosphere was drawing every last ounce of mid level warmth that was available. The moisture radiating from the lower levels of this great divide rapidly condensed in the dry air mass creating a subtle mist that grew denser as it cascaded through the valleys and snaked it's way across the entire valley. It was time to leave.