To the Edge

 The morning of my departure from Glacier National Park, a soft rain continued the rain that fell on and off all night. 

 I said farewell to Two Medicine Lake, although I really did not want to leave. The main pul out of this trance was that I was continuing westward, through more territory I had never seen, across the rest of Montana, through Washington, with the destination in mind being Olympia, where I have friends. I had thought of visiting Seattle but decided I wasn't up for a large city, a day after Glacier. 

 Rainbow four. 

Below, the Columbia River Gorge. I briefly toyed with the idea of staying here overnight, to look for the rare endemic cactus, Pediocactus nigrispinus, but decided to make that a separate trip someday. 

 I arrived in Olympia in time to settle into my hotel and then go downtown around sunset for dinner. The latitude was apparent to me, as it remained eerily light out until quite late. I think the below pic was taken near 10 pm. 

 The next day I met with friends, had a grand time, slept a lot, enjoyed the soft, grey, rainy weather. Locals apologized for how gloomy it was but it felt like paradise to me. 

Weirdling nostalgia for what had never been crept back into my consciousness here, as it had in Ann Arbor and Duluth. The simple missing of an absent person whose company one enjoys. But like a death, "absent forever," at least in my telling of it. The exhilaration, lightness and acceptance of Glacier started to get heavy again here, and I had to learn to just move through, roll with it, and make space. I was still in a more resilient place, at least, of night fighting it. While I admire my Olympia friends and find them fascinating and attractive, there was a weird underlying comparison going on. Thius person is not THE person. Troublesome. but there also seemed to be nothing I could do about it.  

Olympia felt like a friendly, funky, somewhat isolated, eccentric town. I wondered what it would be like to live in such a place. Probably not a match for me, but I had a great time. The next stop: Sunset Bay State Beach in Oregon, one night of camping. 

The comfort of the sublime

 I definitely have a lot to learn about the flora of the Northern Rockies, but still haven't looked anything up, since leaving. I took a hike from the campground about 8 miles up toward Cobalt Lake, and marveled at everything. I've got the day that the park opens the lottery for backcountry camping permits on my Google Calendar, next March. All I have to do is go straight north and I'm there. 

 Must have been an incredible microburst to twist this tree. 

 There was a family of beavers in this grimpen, but they were shy. 

 Looks like high winds come through and often target a single tree. Eff you, tree. 

 A bunch of pics from the hike. I'll look up the botany at some point, and add captions, maybe. 

 It was cool to see Sedum lanceolatum in habitat

 The one iconic plant that I do know is Bear-Grass, which also goes by a lot of other common names. Xerophylum tenax. 

Heading back to the campground through one of the many meadows along the trail. The day continued to unfold with a strong sense of freedom, that everything was well, and would be well. I'll recall Glacier as a place that somehow assisted me in at least temporarily accepting everything in my life for what it is. It's mysterious how these things happen, but I do know that my spiritual and emotional states often respond to the healing of the sublime. Anything vast is reassuring to me. It may seem counterintuitive that being made to feel tiny in the midst of transcendent beauty out of human proportion would be comforting. But it does work that way for me.