The Wild Dance
By Ardweden

	My body ached.  We had been on the trail for a good portion of 
the day, and while I can walk long distances on flat land, up and 
downhill was another story.  For some reason, my parents got in their 
heads that instead of staying with our relatives in San Jose during 
vacation, it would be more fun to drive up the west coast and visit all 
the national parks humanly possible within the span of two weeks.  My 
brother and I didn't really agree with it; after all, we wanted to 
spend time with family and, while we appreciate the beauty of nature, 
strenuous activity and long car rides were low in our to-do lists.  
Still, our parents brought us on vacation, so far be it from us to 
present serious disagreement.
	Most of the trip turned fuzzy as the parks blurred together.  
Lassen, Crater Lake, the redwoods, Mt. Saint Helens... they all became 
the one and same to me.  Just a blur of rocky slopes, forest, blue 
lakes, mudpots, timber lines, and hills, hills, hills.  Lots of hills.  
The recommended "easy" trails were never so easy when they went up and 
down; we discovered that it was more comfortable to take a more 
"difficult" one that was flatter than to go the easier, steeper route.
	And so it came to pass that we visited Mt. Rainier National Park.  
The innkeepers suggested we get there as early as we could, as the 
Seattlelites tended to go for half a day on the weekends and, of 
course, we chose a weekend to see it.  So we followed their advice.  
After a strenuous first day up and down the Skyline Trail, one of the 
longest, yet most popular, hikes in the park (turns out those 
Seattlelites don't actually go up and down the whole thing most of the 
time.  Just a quarter of the way.  If even that), we were more than 
ready for something a little more relaxing.  So we took an out of the 
way hike in an out of the way area.  It wasn't quite flat enough for 
our tastes, but it wasn't bad either, and we made liberal use of rest 
stops.
	One of the things that amazed me, and still amazes me, about Mt. 
Rainier National Park is how stunningly beautiful it is.  Everything, 
from the trees to the animals to the lakes to the mountains, was 
incredibly gorgeous and seemed ready for a postcard picture.  Nothing 
I've seen before or since, even Olympic and Yellowstone, quite 
approaches it.  I was told, once, that Mt. Saint Helens, the desolate 
area it is, once looked very much like it, and that Mt. Rainier is an 
active volcano.  They don't know when the next eruption will be, but 
they're sure the repercussions will be disastrous, if not deadly.
	The thought that all of it would vanish so quickly, in the event 
of an eruption, was extremely sobering.  How could nature stand to 
create such a vivid image, then wipe it clean, so carelessly?
	But we were determined to enjoy what we saw and followed the 
trail to a place they called Shadow Lake.  Along the way we crossed 
small streams and glaciers, but they weren't anything worse than we had 
encountered on the Skyline trail, so it wasn't a very big deal.  Upon 
reaching the lake, which was apparently given its name because of its 
gray/black color, we started circling it, and my breath caught in my 
throat.  Not from the lake, for though it was interesting it was 
nothing spectacular.  And the road trip was giving me my fill of 
interesting.
	No, it was the meadows.  The little patches between the trees 
that seemed to go on forever anyway, filled with wildflowers: most 
commonly white and yellow, with purple, red, orange, and blue thrown 
into the mix.  Nothing I read could have prepared me for it, for while 
stories, biology books, and brochures often described them, or even 
showed pictures, they couldn't come close.  Not even my imagination 
could approach it.  There was almost no actual grass.  It was all 
flowers; tiny, fragile flowers that swayed and danced as the breeze let 
them.
	I wanted to step into them.  I wanted to surround myself with 
them completely.  No paths, no roads, no trails; just me, the flowers, 
the wind, and the trees.  I wanted to twirl in the middle with my arms 
stretched out, round and round and round until I fell over into the bed 
of exceedingly delicate wildflowers, breathing in the scent of the 
world around me.  I wanted to immerse myself in nature, cut myself off 
from everything else, something that never quite occurred to me before.  
Me, the modern girl in a modern world, the girl in the family that 
called camping being away from computers, but not television, radio, 
plumbing, or any of the other conveniences of technology.
	But, as my dad liked to joke, there was no frolicking off the 
trail.  We must stay on the trail, for we are humans, and humans 
disrupt the delicate balance nature placed before us.  My large, clumsy 
foot couldn't handle the meadow as well as a quiet deer's or a hasty 
beaver's; they know what they're doing, they hadn't lost the grace and 
elegance we had.  I'd destroy it without even realizing.  I hated it, 
but there was nothing I could do.  Even I realized that my eagerness 
wouldn't regain what I had lost, what so many had lost, whenever we had 
lost it.
	So I had to bend to the rules we created to protect the world 
from ourselves, to content myself with sitting on a log, pretending to 
be completely out of breath, as I watched the wildflowers dance.  
Shapes and colors, ever changing, but still the same... oh, the 
Seattlelites have no idea what they're missing.