Midsummer on the Wasatch Summits

Midsummer on the Wasatch Summits

It is through the law of antithesis that one often de-rives the greatest pleasure from a contemplation of nature,both subjectively and objectively. For instance, take thisbeautiful piece of landscape on the Wasatch summits. Inmidsummer, could one think of this place, this scene ofprimal wonder, above lakes Mary and Martha among thegranite ledges of the great central ridge of the Wasatchrange, without recalling the delicious coolness of the moun-tain air, and the shadows beneath the branches of the grovesof fir, spruce and pine? Speak to me of the place, in themonth of August, and immediately the imagination hears thesound of snow-fed waters, as they tumble down from theheights ; or sees the white purity of the lingering snowsthemselves among the gleaming granite. But speak of itnow, in this month of winter, and imagination brings-upmost vividly another set of emotions. Yes; one realizes thatnow the mountain tops are literally buried in snow, that thewinter moon—which now shines in the sky—illumines awilderness of arctic whiteness, and that the lakes are frozenbeneath the accumulated snows. But one refuses thatpicture, and looks forward to the summer's prime. Yes;while now I listen to the winds, as they whirl the snow driftsalong the street, the imagination revels in the remembranceof—in the anticipation of—the gardens of the wild. I seethe masses of azure Penstemons, the flaming gold of themyriad butter-cups, the troops of stately columbines, thesolemn monk's-hood, and the crimson mimulus. In im-agination I climb the heights and find again the wan orchids,the fiery geraniums, the countless pale or gorgeous-coloredasters, and the velvet clematis. And, at last, I pause, rest amoment upon the heights, amid the August twilight, where,in the season, is heard the melodious and thrilling notes ofthe vesper-sparrow, and the hermit-thrush, and where arefound the saxifraga, the gentian, the stone-crop, and thealpine club-moss, and where grows that rarest, and thehighest-found, of Wasatch flowers—Parry's Primula—withpurple carrola and golden eye—and which fills the mountainair with a luscious perfume. Thus, on this mid-winternight, whilst the snows are whirled through the desertedstreets, I indulge in a dream of mid-summer on the Wasatchsummits.

Alfred Lambourne.