The snow had melted to a burnished bronze soil seeping with the comforting scent of decay, the forest readying itself for imminent spring. The path was primarily evergreen fir trees, fallen branches and the most intimate fungi to catch the eye.
At a rise, I looked left into a stark stand of naked white birches glowing against the surrounding evergreens and revealed soil.
Stepping from the muted energy of an evergreen canopy into the downward rush of a much more open space is a sensation I treasure every time I think of Mount Hebo.
The clear view then, from the flat summit, is 360 degrees of bliss for my hermetic soul. South to, I’m told, Tillamook Bay; west into the Pacific Ocean’s indefinite horizon; north so far it feels tangible; and the mountain-blunted view east to the Cascade Range.
Eternity up close—having to sit down before falling into a winter-clear night sky of universe. Another message from The Great Divide and all its meaning.