I am able to do that down on the greenbelt near my home, beneath a grove of eleven cottonwoods that I have been walking through for twenty years now.

Today they were steeped in the warm late February sun, which will lead to bud burst in a month, and the dropping of ink-colored staminate catkins.

And in a month there will be more birdsong in the mornings, and the anticipation of a new season of mountain journeys will light a fire in the hearts of us who love wildness.

Am I the only backpacker who gets filled with hope and expectation this time of year,? from the realization that I am still strong enough to go on scores of wilderness adventures during the summer months.

All of my months of carrying a heavy pack in the mornings as I train to remain strong will be such a small thing, when me and Ben and Maggie reach timberline and come across a view so incredible that offering a silent prayer seems the natural thing to do.

And perhaps there is the key to why some of us crave wildness so much. Out here we get a sense of the divine, in the beauty and the mystery, and realize we are a part of it.

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