Day 65: One cannot live in Washington and fail to be moved by the Presence which so often veils itself with cloud. Yet those same clouds are often the curtain across the dressing-room door behind which the Mountain exchanges one set of clothing for another. This is our reward for grey days: a Mountain no longer craggy and grey, lined with ridges and valleys, dusted with the unflattering rouge of rock dust, but a Mountain dressed in winter finery more luscious than ermine or velvet.
Though this very beauty makes Mt. Rainier aloof and unapproachable, we may admire it from a distance. At the foot of timeless majesty, we are humbled and reminded of our brief tenure upon the Earth and the consequence of our careless footfalls. The glaciers are receding, and we may lose sights such as this forever.
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