My heart wants to sigh.

This weekend,

I hiked in Little Cottonwood Canyon.

To Cecret Lake

in the Albion Basin, to be exact.

Doesn't that sound romantic?

We went up past the ski resorts,

leaving the summer heat at the foot of the mountain.

I thought the immobile ski lifts

complimented the scenery perfectly,

standing as tall and majestic

as the ancient pines.  

Admittedly,

I spent a lot of the hike

pretending we were in Switzerland,

wanting to sing out

that the hills were alive with the sound of music.

Seriously.

Amidst the boulders

sprung up thick carpets 

of brilliant, unassuming wildflowers.

I gave elegant names to especially pretty views,

like Anne of Green Gables would do,

like

Alpine Lea

and

Stony Slope.

I gotta say,

brooks really do laugh

as they trip and fall over stones on their way.

That's the only way

to describe it.