"Fifty six years." Theodore Solomons whispered back to the breeze cascading down the Tuolumne River from the Lyle Glacier. For a moment he wanted to shout, "Fifty six years. Oh God, bring them back. I don't want to live in the world of 1940. Too much has happened to my beloved mountains. People can drive to Tuolumne Meadows today. They come, looking for something, and leave without finding anything."

"When was it?" he thought, as he forced his 70 year old body to take a few more steps along the trail to rest upon a projection of granite that overlooked a small ripple in the stream, a rock he remembered from ... "1894, yes, ten years after my daydream of crawling along my horizon of high enchantment-- good phrase, have to remember thatt—and I sat here, no, laid on my back, and watched wisps of clouds form and play as if they had been colts chasing one another in my uncle's alfalfa fields."

"But then," he tried to complete his original thought, and failed, "funny that I should think of those open, unfenced pasture lands, for whenever my uncle had me set on that bony-backed bronc of his to herd cattle, all I had eyes for was to look up from the San Joaquin Plain to the flashing teeth of the Sierra. Flashing teeth, must write that down; maybe some lad of fourteen might see what I saw at that age, through those words."

"But then," he began again, and this time his musing was interrupted by the happy greeting of a young family, hiking the trail, laden with back-packs and sleeping bags. They paused to spend a moment bubbling on, and on, as effervescently as the dancing water in the background, about the beauty of what they considered to be their mountains.

"Well," the old man considered, after they had gone on, singing. "I guess I learned a lesson from this encounter. I am not alone. There are others who understand my felt feelings for the Sierra. With that thought in mind he pulled a pad and pencil from a pocket of his worn old pack. He opened to a fresh clean page and wrote:

"I was just a lad when I first looked up to the flashing teeth of the Sierra and day-dreamed of crawling along this horizon of high enchantment."