Hiking in the high Uintas this July:
Backpacking in a downpour.
Watching the sparks fly up in ribbons from a massive fire built on rock.
Not sleeping the first night because there might be bears.
And the ground is just so hard.
Falling asleep the second night the instant we hit the therma-rests because we are just so tired.
Zero time wasted on face and hair.
A mountain silence bigger than space.
A million flowers.
A billion mosquitoes.
Lying on our backs on a rock slab watching layers of cloud barely overhead.
Life stripped down to the simple.
We have our peace to carry back home.
Time to get back to work.
Imagination doesn't just mean making things up. It means thinking things through, solving [problems] or hoping to do so, and being just distant enough to be able to laugh at things that are normally painful. [Some people] would call this escapism, but they would be be entirely wrong. I would call fantasy the most serious, and the most useful branch of writing there is.
--Diana Wynne Jones
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