Lightning flashes in the dark before the dawn, high up behind Green Mountain, a storm, that never arrives, and now in the light of day, alone along a mountain path where the trail makes a switchback, by asters yellow, purple and white and leaves still green, I am come out of the night, sitting on the ground, in a forest clearing, resting against a log, sunlight dapples yellowing leaves that quiver in a late summer breeze, ferns hang like rusting eaves, ponderosa pines smelling of vanilla stand tall, buzzing insects and wind high in the pines and in the brush the only sound, I look around, I take it in, I feel something in this moment, something in the pine scented breath of the air, in the light reflected in the swaying grass tops, in the warmth that is not hot, if I was asked what is it, I would reply simply, it is exquisite.