My favorite time to go tramping in the San Gabriels is the day after a good storm rolls through in the fall or winter. The hills come alive after a good dumping. The chaparral smells like wild sage and damp earth, the trail is soft under your feet, the atmosphere is loaded with tiny droplets of moisture that soon accumulate into clouds that lift off as the ground heats up, scaling the mountain slopes, defying gravity, so that the contours of the mountains play hide and seek with the observer, as do the crows flying by, heard but not seen. Green is the hero in this saga, every leaf sparkles with accumulated raindrops, but the browns and grays and multitude of earth tones also acquire a depth normally washed out by sunlight and contrast and dust, the manzanita and laurel bushes shower the hiker who brushes past. In contrast, the stillness in the air, stirred only occasionally by a slight breeze, conjures peace and quietness, but also mystery. Visually, there is so much happening and changing every minute, it’s giddying, unless you follow this advice of the bard Henri Salvador, a favorite of mine since childhood,

“Les gens rêvent de voyages

de voyages organisés

Ils collectionnent des images

Moi, je préfère voir les fleurs pousser

Je prends mon temps, moi,  je prends mon temps

Je prends mon temps, moi, je prends mon temps”

–first verse of Je prends mon temps, Henri Salvador,

 

“People dream of traveling

organized traveling

they collect pictures

Me, I prefer to watch the flowers grow

I take my time, I take my time

I take my time, I take my time”

–My literal translation

And since you’re now in the mood, slow it down even more with John Coltrane’s After the Rain.

Nuff said.