Jacob Mullen
09/22/2013
English 112
Pristine clearness abounds as I calmly breathe the dulcet, clean air. The thick cover of snow continues to fall, covering the remaining treetops rising from the earth as if trying to get a final glimpse before commencing to a wintertime sleep. The tracks of others who dared to be alone are soon gone, and I am left to enjoy a seemingly untouched, unadulterated playground. The eloquent silence brings an aura of tranquility, a sensation unable to be found in such an otherwise frenzied and chaotic world. I sit for a moment more, treat myself to a handful of snow, and decide to start my descent. Free here to be the master of my fate and the captain of my soul, I carve an irrational and playful line, through the trees, bounding from stones, floating upon the white. Time is nonexistent. This mountain paradise, and worries escape my consciousness with such ease. Escaping to the backcountry, with no designated certainty, no right or wrong, and no predispositions, I can enjoy being lost. Signs soon signify approaching trails to the left and right, but I feel no want nor need to be found. Indeed I have wandered into the unknown. Considering the snow-covered mountains are far-removed from the sun-showered shores of Santa Monica, this rare occurrence to get lost only comes around every so often. But there in that elevated realm, that untouched sanctuary, where bliss is abundant, there I will always be happily lost. As I leave the mountain the aura seemingly fades, the sensation once felt gone. The luscious chill of winter that once bit my lips,