I have been away.
The Sierra Nevada was calling; we packed up and followed the siren song.
We went away to listen to the silence,
the music of brooks and aspen leaves and the crash of an afternoon thunderstorm.
We went to hike into the back country of the Ansel Adams Wilderness.
To look for beaver habitat, watch the dragonfly and keep our eyes peeled for the silver flash of brook trout.
To sit and sketch for a long hour in the dappled sun and sit, lazy as a turtle, basking in the warmth.
"Going to the mountains," said John Muir, "is coming home."