I hiked in Little Cottonwood Canyon.
To Cecret Lake
in the Albion Basin, to be exact.
Doesn't that sound romantic?
We went up past the ski resorts,
leaving the summer heat at the foot of the mountain.
I thought the immobile ski lifts
complimented the scenery perfectly,
standing as tall and majestic
as the ancient pines.
I spent a lot of the hike
pretending we were in Switzerland,
wanting to sing out
that the hills were alive with the sound of music.
Amidst the boulders
sprung up thick carpets
of brilliant, unassuming wildflowers.
I gave elegant names to especially pretty views,
like Anne of Green Gables would do,
I gotta say,
brooks really do laugh
as they trip and fall over stones on their way.
That's the only way
to describe it.