Late afternoon in the meadow at Emerald Lake
It takes more than an hour to navigate the talus slope between the saddle and Emerald Lake. Evening is advancing further when I finally stride into the meadow by the Quonset hut. The meadow is filled with small brown birds. One or two burst from bushes by my feet at nearly every step. They circle low across the meadow, and as they pass a few inches above the grasses more birds explode from the ground and join them. Soon the sky is full of a great flock wheeling and circling. The air rings with a beautiful liquid bird song. It suddenly occurs to me that I'm probably being called every unprintable name in the bird language. I smile. If only humans could curse so melodiously!
Beyond the notch at the edge of the meadow the fire is now in full view. So much has changed since I climbed here this morning! But at least now I can see where the fire is, and I can see where it isn't. Aspen Grove is not threatened. I have time.
I sit on a rock and peel an orange. Eventually the birds settle back to their weedy homes. A few continue to circle about me, grumbling sweetly. I finish my orange and journey on.