Pavement to Paradise

Driving the road from San Clemente to Yosemite National Park is like slowly boiling on asphalt and evaporating into the presence of clouds.
The traffic through Los Angeles guided me in a frantic and tense blur of break lights. Gradually the streams of cars pour off their exits like reverse tributaries from this river of tar. The landscape dilates and the mind begins to relax. Buildings of polished stone and glass crumble, become raw materials, and man’s grasp of the world loosens.
Greater minds have spoke often of the need for pure wilderness, so I won’t speak so plainly. An untouched wild, I’ve come to believe, broadens human thought to the condition of cleansing, to the point at which the tendency for possibilities is loosened and wonder is left to settle into the unknown.