I’ve spent time in the daunting Rockies, seen the Smokies in their quiet glory, but Mt Shasta and it’s rolling foothills is still one of my most favorite places that I’ve visited when it comes to seeking mountains in the US.
It was a few days after the start of this New Year that I made the journey from San Francisco ( see my post Up In The Woods ) to this lovely mountain and it’s intensely quiet benevolence. There weren’t many (if any) people around when I got to this quiet spot by the lake, the weather a bit on the chilly side and the sun making its steady descent towards night, and so I was able to enjoy the time I spent here in calm solitude.
I live most of the year in an area surrounded by endless fields and concrete jungles, in equal measure, depending on the direction you head in, and getting to spend some time in this kind of quiet, calm and almost pristine landscape, it’s something I treasure dearly. I don’t know if I could survive for long in the small towns that dot these areas, my personality is probably too restless to remain for long, but being in these places, it’s the kind of medicine I think most anyone can benefit from. Among these kinds of giants, it’s wonderful to feel so inconsequential and yet still most definitely part of something.