Water roars down the thin layers of shale, its cool breeze making the purple phacelia dance on the hillside. You listen to the white noise, feeling the dappled sun fumble with the waterfall mist.

At the base of the mountain, the day is warm. But here, three thousand feet higher, the wind rips across the bald, loosing ice from the trees. The white branches stretch toward the peaks in the distance. You enjoy the view and the sunshine before crossing the bald and beginning the descent.

You follow the sound of trickling water until the forest opens before you. Time slows. You sit and listen to the water whispering over the stone shelf. You're privy to the forest's secrets.

After a cool summer night high on the mountain, you trek through the dark woods, your headlamp lighting the trail. The trees open to a rocky outcropping, and the morning breeze nips your skin. In the distance, the first colors of morning paint the sky until the orange sun peers over the mountains.