With trees as tall as rainforest canopies and as big around as houses, the sunlight in the California mountains filters through like spotlights on a stage. The air is thin and fresh and I feel like I'm floating each time I breath in and skip along the dusty pine needle trails. Butterflies and wildflowers decorate the brown and green walls of nature's home in high contrasted colors. Deer and squirels frolick and I'm invited to join along. Every sound echos off of the large trees and the breeze whispers like the ghosts of old. These trees have been living for centuries and are more wise than I. I feel tiny and unimportant, like I could loose myself here. Reverently standing among Gods, I feel honored in sharing the same air. I'm overwhelmed in the beauty and the purity of nature that is rarely touched by human waste. Like standing before virgin earth, I am afraid to move; afraid to track my dirty feet through these forrests and meadows, but I tiptoe through when permission is granted and there is nothing that has ever measured up to it.