This is how some of my summer has been.
Emma and me went on a mini journey in search of the mountain gods.
We found a few and they were good to us in their holy grove.
I found some mysterious alpine valleys. I found many large quiet boulders and they sat on stools while I passed, their arms folded and their eyes crossed. Corn lilies and mountains pride. I tried to ascend Pyramid Peak but got lost in my wandering. I stood at the top of two granite peaks. They were like piles of fallen acorns gathered by shadows. I named them (Mount Lobo) and (Mystery Train Mountain).
A good man needs rest and a lick of whiskey after mountaineering.
Proper food and home.
The Three Monks.
Night Red Light. The White Lady. 
Cold blood of the world coming newly from the blue veins of the hills. Awake with the eyes of the owl and the quiet watcher in his dark hut. 
All journeys must end and write the roots of new.
And later, friends.
Emma built a good strong fire.
And I carved me a good wooden blade.
Good cakes and hot coffee under the cedars and the pines.
A strange dream in the land of good mysteries and old bones.
