Nobody's Mad

Two blocks beyond our house lies a road with the apt name “Old Highway,” a remnant of  an earlier route between Mariposa and Yosemite.  Mike and I took an afternoon walk of two and one-half miles on Monday, part of it along Old Highway, past the Sheriff’s Office and up a hill of moderate height.  We saw a fine gopher snake moving in a seamless flow, on the road and then up a steep bank.  We heard wild turkeys calling, from the brush to the west.  And we saw innumerable lush and healthy stands of poison oak, the plant that is the bane of foresters and miners everywhere.  The walk seemed like the perfect distance.  The heat and the grade made it sufficiently challenging, for me at any rate.  And the natural wonders–  the way the snake seemed to pour itself across the road and up the bank– and the bird sounds, and even the poison oak, gave us much to reflect upon as we made our way.