Then—I feel it. A widening. A tingly slowdown of color and light. I hear sounds, as if I were a wolf. Sounds are isolated, far-off sounds, and feel very close. I don’t feel drunk or high, this is different. I don’t feel dumb or slow. I feel like myself, just…heightened. I feel what Weston had told me about: that nature would take on special holiness. I feel an intense love of it all. I pull out my pen and start to write. I want to push my face into the mountain. Not the one I’m on. The one far across the paradise valley that I could never reach. But the birds see it, and every mountaintop is
...more
