Peeler Lake, Hoover Wilderness   My explanation was simple enough — I’d gone the wrong way to the rendezvous point beside the lake. But the other stuff about why I was so late, how I knew   I needed to go my own way, to be alone? About my High Sierra visions, setting my angels and devils free and hauling fifty pounds and a fishing   pole on a ledge along the cliff face, leaping over abyss after abyss, somehow serenely certain of my place in the universe and the rising glissando   of life at full throttle, my brain ablaze with the dancing cosmos, my body aglow with the tab of windowpane that made the whole day an audience with God?     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont July 2022