Leave it to me to choose a title that in itself is easily disproven: it IS clear, that speaking in absolutes soon forces you to make room for exceptions.

It was just what I was thinking when we approached the Pacific Crest trailhead yesterday on Lolo Pass for a hike up Bald Mountain.

“Nothing is clear…” the valleys and peaks around us were shrouded in fog and mist.

“Nothing is clear,” again when we reached the top, looking into a bank of clouds, ragged breath from the last bit of steep ascent joining the universe of damp droplets around us. The promise of views of Mt. Hood in all its glory, once the sun lifts the veil, empty. Or more precisely, filled with swaths of white and grey, moving, stretching and consolidating with the bit of wind.

Oh, but everything WAS clear, once you stepped closely, within the woods. Some things were clear along the ridges as well, if you waited patiently, as long as budgeted time allowed, for warmth to rip the clouds apart and offer glimpses.

In sum, we saw the forest AND the trees, all just a matter of proximity and time.

Perhaps it is a helpful analogy to our current circumstances. We have a choice of perspective. The future is diffuse, in some ways shrouded. We can focus on the things at hand, though, revealing beauty, or sustenance, or at least things tolerable, rather than dwelling in fear of being swallowed by the clouds. Shifts, brought on by winds of science, will rip the fog apart, at least in places, allowing clearer views.

And if you want to roll your eyes or slap me for waxing philosophical right now, too bad. It is what nature does to my head. When I see usually domesticated flowers in the wild, spreading with abandon,

when I see new life ignoring all the devastation wrought before,

when I see hues of nature’s coloration that put any human paint collection to shame,

I cannot help but feeling I’m instructed to take home a lesson. (Particularly on the day before summer solstice, filled with snow and obstacles….)

If you stare at all that’s hazy, blurred, opaque and cloudy, murky, gloomy, foggy, dark and dim – of course nothing is clear.

Feel free to remind me, next time I’ll mope. Or better still, sent me off on the next hike. I know my own cracked imperfections.

Which bridges to the music today: Cohen’s Anthem.

Ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offerings. There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.