There was nobody else on the trail yesterday (which never happens; Millcreek is a busy canyon). So I thought of this Cold Mountain poem (read more here) and took some pictures.
Men ask the way to Cold Mountain
Cold Mountain: there’s no through trail.
In summer, ice doesn’t melt
The rising sun blurs in swirling fog.
How did I make it?
My heart’s not the same as yours.
If your heart was like mine
You’d get it and be right here.