The Painted Hills

It only took one picture for me to know I would be traveling to the Painted Hills of Oregon. What I didn’t realize was the time it would take to get there from the city of Portland. After driving for four hours through the beauty of central Oregon though, a lone dirt road made it’s way up to this jaw dropping viewpoint.

The colors of this artwork that has been 39 million years in the making was mine alone for most of my time here. You hike with the occasional crow, maybe a rabbit or two, as rain clouds race along the skyline. Being alone gives one the freedom to truly relax with nature.

The call of our Native American brothers is strong in this place. I hear them in the trees and wind, I bend a knee and listen for wisdom from the Great Spirit. A calm bathes my skin ever so lightly.

“Meditate my brother, let your worries go”

I find it easy to listen, to chill, decompress, by myself.  I find enlightenment with the small stacks of stones built by those that came before me.

Mmmmmm…..I add to the pile of stones, and return from whence I came.

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Wench, bring my ale, what say you?