There are ranges, and there are mountains. Shasta is a mountain, and for hundreds of square miles of Northern California it takes ownership of a traveler's gaze and won't give it up.
Yesterday Shasta was free of the clouds that normally cluster around its peak. The clouds don't take away from Shasta's character; they just add a shaggy magnificence.
The sunset makes the mountain seem even more radiant. As twilight deepens, Shasta still seems to glow as it cools off.
Andrew was not sure how to add a link in a comment, so he asked me to point out a related poem he posted about Mount Saint Helens.
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2 comments:
For the record: The Mt. St. Helens poem is not by me but by Richard Wakefield! Andrew
Sorry about that. I fixed the main text to describe it more accurately.
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