Call of the Wild

There’s something to be said about the places in the world where one can walk alone, pinned between the earth and the sky.

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In those places, nothing hampers your view. No man-made objects exist to clutter your path from the snow at your feet to the clouds scudding overhead. The sun is brighter and stronger because it’s unfiltered and unfettered. The trees are more green because the snow is more pristine. You can see for miles, and there’s no distinction between up and down.

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In any direction, your vista is the same. Maybe the whole world looks like this, and your memories of other places come from dreams.

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And the call of the wild is strong.

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“But he is not always alone. When the long winter nights come on and the wolves follow their meat into the lower valleys, he may be seen running at the head of the pack through the pale moonlight or glimmering borealis, leaping gigantic above his fellows, his great throat a-bellow as he sings a song of the younger world, which is the song of the pack.” -Jack London

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