Clouds again are the fascination today. They slide in quick succession over the mountain ridges like children sliding down a playground slide. I wish they would engulf us in their misty veil but, alas, the wind blows in an ill direction for that to occur. Instead they continue sliding down faster and dissolve into nothingness at the bottom.
It rained earlier today, drenching the trail with a deluge of water. The muddy puddles lay in our path like obstacles on an obstacle course, forcing us to hop and jump to cross them. I do not mind them, for without the rain there would be no low hanging clouds sliding down the range opposite to amuse me. Because of the water, many more fungi have sprouted up. The red-capped mushroom I found last time has appeared elsewhere along the trail, not in so large a form, however, but all still bear the red cap.
My roommate, Lynsi, came with me this time, and we had a pleasant walk up. It was she who thought to bring water and I am most grateful that she did. I forgot to do so last time. Now she lies below me on a rock plateau jutting out from the rocky top, reading a book I lent her—The Blue Sword by Robin McKinley—which is one of my favorite books from my childhood. I must have read it and its partner when I was 11 or 12. I still love it to this day and I am most happy to pass along my love to her.
Still the clouds keep rolling past, stemming, it seems, from an endless supply, and endlessly dissolving into nothing.