Struck by Beauty

Is it possible to forget how beautiful a place is?

 Driving over Sonora Pass, the heater blasting to keep my little engine that could nice and cool, I didn't think that I was gonna want to drive this route again. Until I started the descent and found myself looking at a vast expanse of rolling hills and sandy-colored mountains, the scents of sage and rabbitbrush swirling in and out of my open windows. I found myself facing a landscape that made my heart sing with the beauty that quickens the soul. It was a feeling akin to the one I felt atop the Red Mountain Fire Lookout, except that this was coupled with a distinctive sense that I was looking at my home.

 When I reached the Highway 395 I was practically giddy. Following the contours of the Walker River, so familiar with where I needed to downshift, which corners I could take faster than the others, which hills would require me to downshift, where the turnouts were so I could get out of everybody else's way while I soaked in the beauty and the scents and the feeling of home.

 North of Reno, I started to enter the less familiar Northeastern Sierra. The hills and mountains alike seem less dramatic, more rolling and inviting, yet just as beautiful. Lenticular clouds dotted all over the sky like UFOs. I had to wonder if maybe a good number of sightings were people unfamiliar with the clouds seeing them under-lit by city lights or some similar effect.

If you want to see the better sunset, sometimes you have to look east. I discovered this last summer, and I saw it played out in vivid color on my drive home. My camera doesn't do it justice, but all the pinks were so much deeper than they seem in this photo.

It feels good to be home, even if for a short visit. It feels good to know that this area is my home, full of beauty, with my husband and our little house, our quirky first-year garden and the cute little towns to explore. I finally feel like we're in the right place.

Here's to the Wanderhope.

Until next time!