This morning a stunning dawn was breaking. The sun rose scarlet, backlighting a majestic mountain. Rays of light penetrated lavender clouds, blanketing dome topped monoliths with a pink glow. A flock of birds were leaving their roost heading for a morning meal. It was a great feeling to witness nature’s beauty in her fullest.
For a moment I felt as though I was overlooking an ancient city in the middle east. The domes could have easily been great Mosques. The mountain could have possibly been Iran’s Mt. Damavand. I was in a beautiful, exotic place………………..For a minute.
I was in my car commuting to my “day job” . The mountain was Mt. Hood. The domes were not mosques, but a Petrol Tank farm off of Highway 30. The birds were just ordinary pigeons. But, the sun did in fact dawn scarlet. The clouds were lavender. It was spectacular. If I focused on the space before my eyes, it was beautiful. If I allowed my mind to tell me I was in a dirty industrial district, the beauty would have been almost non-existent. I had gone to a happy place, and it started my day with a smile.
After reading the above account, it is probably no surprise to anyone that I was a daydreamer as a child. I had (and still have) a pretty active imagination. It helps to keep me sane. This morning’s sunrise was a perfect example. As I arrived to work, I was just coming off of a vacation. Even though it was only for a few minutes , I still felt refreshed, having momentarily checked out of reality.
I like to do the same thing when I’m not working too. It can change your whole perspective about the current situation you find yourself in. One morning I was fishing the crowded run on the Cowlitz river below the trout hatchery. The area is locally known as “blue creek”. It is about a far from a pristine place as you can get. Fist fights between anglers have broken out here.Guides in loud jet sleds full of “dudes” compete for limits of hatchery “clones”. I waded into the run below the crowd of gear anglers. My immediate downstream view was that of water and trees. It was still very early, and no jet sleds were on the water. I imagined I could hear the droning thump of helicopter blades, cleaving through a thick Canadian mist. I felt as though had just been dropped onto a wilderness gravel bar on the Dean River. As I focused on my fishing, the cast- swing-step routine became hypnotic. The hub of my concentration was the 90 degree arc of my swing. Nothing else penetrated my senses. Then it happened. A grab. A headshake. Nothing. It was over as soon as it began. I was instantly jolted back to reality. I looked around. A guide boat was motoring downstream past me. I waved. It was the start of a great day.
No matter where I was.