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Muir, John, 1838-1914

"The Mountains of California"

A solemn calm fell upon everything.
All the lower portion of the canon was in gloaming shadow, and I crept
into a hollow near one of the upper lakelets to smooth the ground in a
sheltered nook for a bed. When the short twilight faded, I kindled a
sunny fire, made a cup of tea, and lay down to rest and look at the
stars. Soon the night-wind began to flow and pour in torrents among the
jagged peaks, mingling strange tones with those of the waterfalls
sounding far below; and as I drifted toward sleep I began to experience
an uncomfortable feeling of nearness to the furred Monos. Then the full
moon looked down over the edge of the canon wall, her countenance
seemingly filled with intense concern, and apparently so near as to
produce a startling effect as if she had entered my bedroom, forgetting
all the world, to gaze on me alone.
The night was full of strange sounds, and I gladly welcomed the morning.
Breakfast was soon done, and I set forth in the exhilarating freshness
of the new day, rejoicing in the abundance of pure wildness so close
about me. The stupendous rocks, hacked and scarred with centuries of
storms, stood sharply out in the thin early light, while down in the
bottom of the canon grooved and polished bosses heaved and glistened
like swelling sea-waves, telling a grand old story of the ancient
glacier that poured its crushing floods above them.


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