The Desk.

I love the morning. I love getting up early and getting everything done so I have the afternoon. One particular morning, last Tuesday maybe, or Wednesday, (you lose track of the days out there, and the time too, save the position of the sun) I went for a private walk just after sunrise. As I strode up the hill, I gazed down upon the valley, the little wandering stream, and a mule deer that had come down out of the hills. He was sniffing around near our dining fly where somebody spilled some mashed potatoes last night. Several mini-bears darted back into their burrows as I passed, other just scampered off. I looked West and saw the golden tint of the dawn upon a rocky crag. That's where we ate lunch yesterday before the lightning came. The lightning is good sometimes, we can hike faster. I got to where I was going and watched as my fellows began to stir to life down below. A few were already out and about, oblivious of the deer. I looked the other way down the valley, towards the rising sun, as the warm glow slowly stretched across the pines on the opposite bank. This butte of mine was home to an assortment pies, which I would later roll down the cliff in front of me, accompanied by Strawberry. But for now I simply sat and enjoyed the sounds of morning in the great woods, knowing that there could well be a mountain lion or a bear less than a mile away, back in those woods someplace. It was good that that deer found the potatoes first. Fresh dew and sap flooded my nostrils; I soaked up the view and the sensations, and when the time came, I wiped, closed the lid, and hiked back down to camp.