Mt. Baker peeks through swaying firs, its fresh snow dazzles me like the flash of a movie star’s smile.

What is it about freshly fallen snow that is so alluring? Few things in nature are so purely white, so symbolic of beginnings, of things untainted. To a writer it is the blank page beckoning for insights. To a painter, the bare canvas awaiting inspiration. But most of all, it is the real alchemy of snow that delights. To watch moisture-laden clouds release these ice crystals, which then drift down to earth in such dizzying fashion, is to recall the snow days of childhood and my first sled, all shiny red metal and varnished wood and the steep streets of Portland that I dared go down.

Six inches of snow settle onto the ground and stay for a few days, which reveals a surprise. As the days go by, barely an inch of ground is untouched by hoof, paw and claw prints—my yard becomes a giant manuscript of animal gibberish—cussings and crossings and foragings beneath the snow. I had no idea there was so much activity or that deer use the concrete stairs in the narrow yard along the north side of the house.

These crisp winter days revealed another surprise. They were always there. But I didn’t know it.

Huge—8, 10, 12,000 feet tall. Then today dawned cold and so clear that the San Juan Islands appear as if they’ve been cut from dark blue paper with ultra-sharp scissors. And beyond them, 200 miles into Canada, I see more snow-capped mountains. It’s like learning I have unseen guardian spirits who have always been there. What other presences are there in my life that I don’t know about?

CONTEMPLATIONS

• Do you need a blank slate, a fresh snowfall in your life right now?
• What goes on in your world when you’re not looking?
• What other presences might there be in your life that you don’t know about?
• Do you know where to look for them?

Visit other Washington mountains here.

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Since today is supposed to be the last 80 degree day this year in western Washington, I’ve headed to Mt. Rainier, the crown jewel of the Cascade Range. Though it’s a long drive, it’s worth it to savor one more experience of being thoroughly warm. Warmth and Quiet—those are my goals. Mountains have long been places of spiritual renewal and settings for introspection. I know that being able to look out over a landscape from above often births a new outlook on my own life.

This mountain takes up a lot of space—its wide base sprawls about 25 miles, and it pushes up into the sky nearly three miles. The tallest peak in the Cascades, Mt. Rainier’s bold presence demands awe and respect. Tahoma. That’s what the native Yakima people called it. That feels more fitting than the name of some British admiral who never even saw it. Captain Cook on his grand 18th century tour of these parts left us with many such ill-fitting names. Still, no matter what you call it, this mountain is a force that requires attention.

This is a geologically active volcano as proven by ongoing geothermal activity. The last eruption was about 150 years ago, and it’s likely to erupt again. These signs placed prominently all around it attest to the reality of this peak’s vitality. Mt. Rainier is the next-door neighbor to Mt. St. Helens, which famously erupted in 1980. That explosion lopped the top off that mountain and sent ash around the world. I heard the eruption from my home on the Oregon coast, over 100 miles away, and within days my garden was also covered in a layer of ash.

fall splendor on Mt. Rainier...click to enlarge

Today, however, I can only think about the present, the glorious parade of autumn tones that deepens as I climb upward. At lower elevations, fall often eases in—gilding a few alders, then turning some big leaf maples partly gold. Liquid ambers join in with shades of tangerine, then finally adding richer hues. But here at the timberline, Mt. Rainier announces fall with typical brashness. At midday it glows as if drawn with bright crayons by a frenetic child. In the alpine meadows autumn is brazen and scarlet and vivid and orange. Rivers of rich colors flow down the glacial paths like freshly erupted molten lava. On this day, the heat from this new fire is palpable.

The afternoon light electrifies vine maples, and drifts of Indian paintbrushes still offer their bright persimmon palette, while wild asters add a purple counterpoint. Down the steep canyons these fires stream, into the aptly named Paradise Valley, where black bears gorge on bright red mountain ash berries. Only the early snows at this height can quench these blazing fires. For now, it’s a dazzling display that enthralls.

Paradise River tumbles down Mt. Rainier...click to enlarge

CONTEMPLATIONS

• Is there some area of your life where you can be more bold?
• Do you need to be brazen?
• Is there some dormant passion you want to ignite this autumn?
• Or is there some place you need to climb?

Though living near water dominates my life, I always revel in my trips to the mountains. The air here, so rich with ions, seems to produce more clarity of thought. And oh the fragrance! Fir cones are thick on the ground and they bake in this heat, then open to release their sweet, pitchy scent. Combined with the roar of the wind rushing down the canyon, it’s all intoxicating. All my senses are fully engaged in being here amid this magnificent spectacle.

I’d like to roll around in one of these alpine meadows and let the sun push me into the warm fleshy body of Mother Earth.

However, as this is a National Park, we humans are required to remain on the trails and leave the meadows to the marmots, bears and steller’s jays. I can imagine it though…won’t you join me?

join me in Paradise Valley...click to enlarge

GUIDED MEDITATION

Turn your back to the sun and let it warm you, let it infuse your whole body with heat and a renewed passion for life. Now lie down on the earth and begin to turn toward the valley below. Smile as you sense the wild camas tickle your skin as you roll by it on your way down this gentle slope. Laugh as you bounce and bump along the ground, through a riot of wildflowers and amber leaves. Feel yourself becoming flower-scented and orange. Now feel the thick chartreuse moss beneath your back as you come to a stop near the newly born Paradise River. Inch toward it and plunge your face into it, then drink from the purest water on earth—high altitude, fresh snowmelt—full of iron from the riverbed, clear, cold and dancing with life force. Lap at the water like a thirsty animal and be refreshed.

Peering into this young river, see your face, and then your soul against the blue-blue-blue sky. Feel your heart rise up to meet it.

The ground is cooler near the water, and you burrow your face in the greenness of it. Inhale the earthy smells, the animated scent of rich, life-giving soil. Poke your fingers gently into it and hang on as you focus on the sensation of spinning on this planet around the sun. You can really feel it if you try. The breeze is that movement, that whirling, ever whirling around our own axis and around our solar center. Turn over onto your back and swallow as much of the blue expanse of sky as you can—let the clean air scour out your lungs and revitalize you. Pull down the blueness and wrap within it your autumn dreams. Revel in this perfect moment, this heightened awareness of being vividly alive right here, right now on this magnificent mountain.

As you stare up at the sky, you notice a few puffy clouds slowly drift into view. How are they shaped? Do they carry a message or some symbol you need to understand? Ask the clouds what they have to teach you. Listen with your eyes and heart rather than your mind that doubts such possibilities.

When you feel complete with your visit to Paradise Valley, sit up and perhaps journal about your experience.

meditate on autumn sunshine...click to enlarge

DOWNLOADABLE AFFIRMATION CARD

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OFFERING

Spread some passion around! The illustration from this post is available as a package of 8 postcards from Cafe Press.

If you’d like to peek at Mt. Rainier, visit this webcam located at Paradise.

Perhaps you like to visit Hurricane Ridge in the Olympic Mountains here.

Click on any of the following links for more information:

What Is Meditation?
How To Meditate in 5 Easy Steps
Setting the Mood
Benefits of Meditation
Expanding Your Current Meditation Practice
Why I Meditate and How It Affects Me

chipmunk picnics on wildflower in the Olympics

With just two younger trees beside it, this fir is vulnerable here at the edge of the woods, where it marks a sharp descent to the all-green valley far below. The broken fir is a reminder of the violent forces of nature. During the harsh winter in the Olympic Mountains, the tree would be buried in snow. But by spring it would have been exposed enough to snap, even though it is robust at several feet in diameter. Once the tallest tree on this ridge edge, now it stands shorter but steady, with no flexibility to sway.

Midday wind rises up through the deep canyon and brings sweetness from the valley floor—hints of fern and cottonwood. A gray jay stops by to beg, but I know better than to feed him. Mountain meadows are colorful, soft and alluring—to deer and to people. Drifts of violet harebells and lupine contrast with white daisies, persimmon colored paintbrushes and lilliputian tiger lilies.

The colors flow down the mountain like streams of rainbows.

Wildflowers spill over Hurricane Ridge in July

Patchy snow still lingers on glaciers in these mountains in late July. It is possible to be alone here, to be tiny, minute amid the giant trees, to contemplate these craggy inaccessible mountain tops.

CONTEMPLATIONS

• What part of your soul is removed—distant—remote—from your daily awareness?
• What precious silence lives there??
• What heights do you aspire to reach??

The wind dies back to reveal utter stillness. Then the silence is pierced by a raven swooping above the valley, his loud call echoing off the steep mountainsides. He owns this space in this new quiet. A rustling beneath the fir reveals a shy sooty grouse, who shuffles out from under the tree and plops into a hollow in the bare dirt. By his yellow-orange eyebrows I can tell it’s a male.He swishes his tail feathers, kicking up dust as he settles into the earth.

The air is sweet and fragrant and pure as only mountain air can be. I take deep breaths of this precious exhalation of woods and meadow and imagine my lungs delighting in the cool clean ion-rich oxygen. In the absence of wind I can hear the raven shouting from a far ridge, claiming his territory, surveying his realm.

CONTEMPLATIONS

• What space do you claim for yourself?
• How do you protect it?

It tells you something about the far reaches of the Olympic Mountains, that even after weeks of full summer sun, all the snow will not melt. What snow that does melt in this spot forms the Elwha River, the Chinook word for elk. When it tumbles out of these mountains, the Elwha is pristine and glimmers in deep green and turquoise. After a short journey northward, the Elwha empties into the Strait of Juan de Fuca and urges its water to the sea.

pristine Elwha River pours down from the Olympic Mountains

In these deep canyons, the rising wind mimics the ocean, building, roaring, rushing over the ridge. It ruffles the meadow, causing wildflowers to dance in the late afternoon sun. A cold front is moving in from the ocean and a chilling wind sends me on my way.

The raven sails high above it all, exulting in flight and freedom and the abundance splayed out below him. As he flies over my head I hear his wing beats pushing into the west wind. He reminds me to persevere in attaining my goals. Whssh / push / whssh / push.

CONTEMPLATIONS

• What force in your life do you need to push against?
• What tendency do you want to overcome?
• Where do you need to express greater stamina?
• How can you become Raven?

DOWNLOADABLE AFFIRMATION CARD

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