Above the stifling morass of a dreary, bug-infested forest, in the cool, uncluttered, wild-flowered atmosphere of Heaven on earth, lies not one, but two, alpine pool gems. One is sapphire, hemmed by a fiery crown of ragged ridge-line, the other turquoise, cupped in the bosom of a glacial cirque. So beautiful are they that neither Frost nor Yeats could ne'er pay them their due in verse. At least, I will fail in good company.
It would be our third arduous outing in as many days; back to back to back. It's easy to feel pressured this time of year, scurrying around, checking off favorite gardens one by one before blossoms go to seed and closes the greatest show on earth. So we hike and climb and scramble, chasing "Eden's Garden," the "Holy Grail," alas, the "Last Supper."
It is a bountiful year. Bobbie stands eye to eye with deep-purple delphiniums, and toe to toe with rainbows of fluorescent paint brush.
Creeks have settled down. Most of the alpine snow has melted and is well on its way to the Pacific Blue.
We are distracted from our climb by trailside attractions, forced to pause and admire and photograph. This "show" is like any good movie; it never gets old no matter how many times you've seen it.
And then Ice Lake comes along with its radiant sapphire blue, and blows your fucking mind...
It's times like these when my agnostic cynicism grows weak in the knees... Have mercy, there must be a God!
Then I remember all the unfortunate children in the world, how they suffer and die from disease and poverty and the greed of war, and I think, Alas, there is no God. By definition, only a monster would allow a single child to suffer and die.
From sapphire to turquoise... On to Island Lake.
Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do and die...