There’s this very peculiar something about arriving in an unknown place and feeling welcomed as if one was returning to one’s own home. And these warm welcomes… Read more “Arrival, Home | Photo”
Oh look, that rhymes a little! Seriously tho, I really love snow. Okay, okay, I’m going to stop now and finally get to it. I love snow.… Read more “Running in the Snow at Obsidian Dome | Eastern Sierra”
This is perhaps the first time I don’t know what to say, or, better, I don’t want to say anything. This photo speaks volumes to me, and… Read more “Endlessly Free | One Photo”
When I was younger, I’d straight down refuse to take a rest, especially when traveling. I’d always think that winding down was a waste of time, especially… Read more “A Lazy Day Along Highway 120”
It’s cold in the Eastern Sierras in February. I think that’s something we can agree on. It’s also perhaps the best time of the year to visit.… Read more “A Cold Morning | Betsy in the Eastern Sierras”
In 2018, I took a friend of mine on a short trip to the Eastern Sierras. It was my first time spending an extended period of time… Read more “Panoramas from East of the Sierras”
I used to be scared of dark. I still am, sometimes. I used to hate running. I still do, sometimes. Does this imply I might have a… Read more “Night-Time : Run-time”
It was the first evening of the long trip. Only half an hour before, we descended the slopes of Mt Shasta back to camp, and I was feeling restless, fed by the mountain’s energy. Something hinted me to return to a turn in the road where we drove earlier that day, and I couldn’t but listen to the whisper.
Following it was more than worth it. When I reached that turn, the sun was just about to start its descent behind the mountain range to the west, and soon, the steep slopes of Black Butte were drowned in the most beautiful colours.
It was, hands down, one of the – or, probably THE – most beautiful sunset I’ve ever witnessed. The colors danced around the short but sharp peak and the air was buzzing with energy. I could feel it on my skin, and I could almost hear it, this hum, this crackle, and tunes of the song only the mountain with the choir of the sunset could sing.
“Why the hell am I doing this?!” I ask this question myself while running quite often. On average it starts floating around in my head about 2… Read more “Why (the Hell) do I Run?”
We sailed north over the almost-empty freeways. Stopping at a dam and cooling off our feet and minds, we hopped back into the old car and continued… Read more “Mount Shasta And the Sense of Wonder”