High Sierra Summer

 No one ever spent too much time in the High Sierra in the summer. Certainly I have not. It's deja vu all over again with wildflowers  announcing spring in mid-July. This patch of paint brush--and yes it's a different pink than most I've seen--with sage brush and pines is ready for an afternoon thunder shower to liven up the sky and tantalize the olfactory nerves with that impossible to replicate smell of the wild.


Most afternoons provided a respite from the trail or paddling while we retreated to shelter while watching the light show from inside. Meanwhile we sharpened our domino skills supplemented with mocha and popcorn. In our narrow canyon, weather dropped in with little fanfare and drifted off in the same attitude, unhurried and a little ruffled by the passage over the high scrapes above.

Gnats, but not mosquitos, are dancing fairies without the buzz and blood. I suppose fairies should retain anonymity. My inability to gain real focus on them insures it.

That's Rock Creek Lake behind that nip of Aspen providing the stage. You might notice a few galls on the Aspen leaves.

A little red from penstemon balances the glorious green foliage. Coming from our super dry neighborhood, anything green is delicious to the eye.

Nature bouquets seem better for the outdoor setting and the chance composition of buddies with rocks.  

More paintbrush in knee-high clusters along the trail to the upper lakes beyond the road on Rock Creek. This makes up for missing the peak of the iris bloom. I always want them all to bloom at once. What a wreck that would be! Pollinators would buzz out of control in a madcap week, perhaps blowing up with nectar.

Wild onions on their long stalks appear as botanical exclamation marks upside down with magenta tops.

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