Years of Poems and Spirits

Last Sat. we went cherry picking with family and friends in East Wenatchee. It was a long drive in a hot day with a large group (20 some people including babies and grannies). By the time it was over, everyone felt exhausted.

But it was a beautiful drive. We took highway-2, which largely followed river valleys through that part of the Cascades. First it was the Wenatchee River then it the Columbia River. The Wenatchee was at its peak in terms of water volume. As water roars, swirls and jumps down the valley, it feels like a beast in heat. The Columbia is a lot quieter, regally meandering through barren hills and plains like a dark blue ribbon laid around a silky, wheat-colored dress.

I did all the driving on our way back to town. It was about 6 or 7 pm, the sun was setting in the valley. Everyone fell into deep sleep as the car silently gliding along the winding mountain road. It was as if driving in the night but with daylight on. I was with many people yet felt alone. It was surreal.

As I drove in and out of shadows of mountains–the mighty Mt. Index was shrouded in a rich, golden cover of sun light, I suddenly recalled the melody of Debussy’s Danses Sacree et Profane. The soothing and pious theme played by the harp kept coming back as if accomping a procession of priests. The sense of sacredness and mystic was exactly how I felt at that moment.