For most of my time in the Alps, I was macro-focused.
If you’ve been reading this blog over the course of the last three months, you already know this. You have been barraged with photographs of stunning summits, serrated ridgelines, dolomite towers, and meadows that rolled on forever—perhaps to the point of scenery overload.
Being in big mountains lends itself to focusing on bigness; after all, we often travel into alpine landscapes to experience the expansiveness of the world.
While I know there is much to see on the micro-level, I sometimes forget to look down.
But, when the clouds descend and insulate me from the big picture, I remember. When I cannot see more than ten feet in front of my face, I am suddenly forced to focus on what is less than ten feet away—or even what is right beneath my toes.
On days like this, my vision changes. And I had days like this.
I saw a slug, a mottled brown tube with little burnt sienna head spikes, and a snail—looking a lot like his slug cousin but carrying a perfect spiral box on his back.
I paid more attention to the purples of the harebells and gentians or the whites of the saxifrage and mountain daisies.
I admired how the succulents arranged themselves between the rocks, how moss spores shot up from their green cushions, and how lichen could glow chartreuse even in low light.
The cow hoofprint, the chamois scat, and the myriad varieties of mushrooms around me provided motivation to stop and snap pictures.
On these days, I felt a certain intimacy with the landscape, a feeling that we were all on this journey together…which, of course, we are.
Instead of being awed by size, distance, might, and majesty, I was delighted by details. I stopped to crouch down and really examine the golden color that flows through an aspen leaf’s veins.
I grabbed a hold of a branch to check out the pimply pattern that emerges on rose hips.
I noticed more small creatures, from birds and butterflies to snakes and voles.
I thought about how each of these species was carving out a living in a tiny corner of the Earth.
The mountains may have made the landscape, but these creatures were making use of it, adapting their lifestyles to the extreme temperatures, elevations, winds, and weather systems that characterize life in the alpine zone.
Looking up, I saw dignity, power, and grandeur. Looking down, I saw creativity, drive, and resilience.
I know I need all of these qualities. And they are all available to me with a simple shift in perspective.
exploraspective 