There is nothing as spectacular and magical as a view from way up high. Last weekend Andy and I had the pleasure of going for a wonderful hike with our friend Eric. Eric has made this particular hike over a 100 times (and twice earlier that day) but Andy and I were virgins to this location.
We met Eric in a wooded parking area near the trailhead and began the ascent. The rise was gradual and because we were on a very forested path, we couldn’t really tell what lay ahead (though we knew about where we were supposed to emerge). We passed lush ponds, watched our step on the rocky path and chatted away during the one-hour trek up. After most of the walk we met up with the Appalachian Trail (which takes a more direct and steep route up to that point).
When we reached the top, we were quite literally on top of the world. We were above the Bear Mountain Bridge at Anthony’s Nose, a very popular spot for very good reason. We looked below and watched birds from above as they soared effortlessly (we all agreed that one of the best superpowers to have if we were to choose one was flying). The vista was breathtaking—river, green mountains, bridges (several are visible from there), even views of Bear Mountain Lake and their skating rink that looked so tiny from that vantage point.
The hike down had a few ups and downs along the way so it took nearly as long as the climb. But it was worth it for the magical view and the experience of sharing it with loved ones.
What are some of your favorite views up on high? Share with us in the comment section below!
from The Princess: O Swallow
By Alfred Lord Tennyson
O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South,
Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves,
And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee.
O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each,
That bright and fierce and fickle is the South,
And dark and true and tender is the North.
O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light
Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill,
And cheep and twitter twenty million loves.
O were I thou that she might take me in,
And lay me on her bosom, and her heart
Would rock the snowy cradle till I died.
Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love,
Delaying as the tender ash delays
To clothe herself, when all the woods are green?
O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown:
Say to her, I do but wanton in the South,
But in the North long since my nest is made.
O tell her, brief is life but love is long,
And brief the sun of summer in the North,
And brief the moon of beauty in the South.
O Swallow, flying from the golden woods,
Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine,
And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.