Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves.  ~ John Muir

Tomorrow I “trek” to a cabin in the Pisgah National Forest.  The owner, a writer like myself, assures me it is quiet and its spring water the best tasting in that country, the Appalachians.  There is a stream with trout and waterfalls; a big porch with rocking chairs and forest.  I can’t tell you how much I need this time to refresh in nature, how much of my natural rhythm (if I even have one left)  may remain in tact after mind and body numbing technical writing in an isolated office at a university writing other people’s dreams.  The art is perception, some might say.  But I wonder now if that is just a fool’s strategy to drink the undrinkable.

But I am blunt in my ability to judge; worn from forcing that which goes against my grain.  Weary, foggy, and unsure…I go to the mountains to listen to a stream passing by, making melodies from the stones it must traverse on its journey.  I will learn something from the river full of trout outside the cabin door and maybe follow it for a while to see where it goes.