We're gone into the wild, packs ready, dogs ready, boots and hats and sweaters for the cold night, a laden journey rewarded by solitude and company under the sky. We're gone where the wind whistles through the tall trees and across the face of the water.

We'll sleep under stars and hear the two waterfalls just east of camp falling down the lava rock churning phosphorescent, combining in the hollow south and west of the ridge to form a little glacial lake.

We'll watch Leonid meteors dash across the sky, falling stars skipping on the earth's atmosphere and the sky above endlessly dark and deep, stars so bright the constellations are lost. A bare sliver of silver the crescent moon will set by midnight.

A howl perhaps coyote, a screech perhaps night owl, a shuffle perhaps bear, and we won't hear the deer with their careful hooves softer than rain falling, a snore of four companions asleep on the ground.

We'll wake to the sunlight and birdsong and the hushed quiet of the big mountain forest.

Have a good weekend.