Old Mans Beard
Shames Mountain, BC, Canada
The Air’s so cold it burns my lungs.
I stride through old-growth forest, exhaling steam clouds like a coal-black locomotive from a wild-west shunting yard.
The day is crisp and dry, as are my eyes which drip near-frozen tears onto my cheeks. Yet I don't feel the cold.
I'm dressed for the season, but that's not the reason for my warmth, nor is the internal heat I'm generating with my uphill efforts.
It's the connection I feel to the forest, that keeps my mind from the cold, its as if I belong. The silence of a deep winter forest reassures me. I feel alive and unburdened, happy, passive, content, these are the reasons I leave my bed, in the dark, for a cold morning climb.
