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Show 109 Jie rhythm of the "watercourse way" of the young Tuolumne River. le was precisely immersed in the flow and drift of Nature: Down through the midst, the young Tuolumne was seen pouring from its crystal fountains, now resting in glassy pools as if changing back again into ice, now leaping in white cascades as if turning to snow; gliding right and left between granite bosses, then sweeping on through the smooth, meadowy levels of the valley, swaying pensively from side to side with calm, stately gestures past dipping willows and sedges, and around groves of arrowy pine; and throughout its whole eventful course, whether flowing fast or slow, singing loud or low, ever filling the landscape with spiritual animation, and manifesting the grandeur of its sources in every movement and tone. He found the rhythm of going and pausing inspiring, "leading one far out of himself, yet feeding and building up his individuality." But on the mountain, when lost, it was not so easy to go with the grain and follow the rhythm of the landscape, as he had while following the glacial pathways. Then he felt the tension which could lead to separation and alienation. Here was a tension which could be transcended, or else abruptly and mechanically terminated. Like Nick Adams, fishing on the Big Two Hearted River, like a student of the art of archery, Muir had to wait until the tension was fulfilled. In his dance on the mountain, he had to realize that it was not him, not the mountain, but something beyond them that moved. So it was |