Perspective is such a relative construct. When in a room indoors we sense the boundaries and fill it to the brim with self. Only when outdoors, on top of a mountain, can we realize that we are not the story. Just a ripple from a pebble tossed into the sea.
An idea for tomorrow's outing finally gelled about bedtime: Hike the trail to Blue Lakes Pass. But Jello plans tend to melt when left out under a hot sun. Cross-canyon, a previously unexplored basin to the south caught and held my attention as we slogged up a trail littered with thirsty, stunted wildflowers. "We should go there," I pointed out to Bobbie. She agreed. There were no new "dots" awaiting us on Blue Lakes Pass, only people. This is what we found...aimless, off-trail, following our collective curiosity.