To Be More

The fog hung on the tops of the mountains today, disguising them in a way. The mountains here in The East aren’t that big. Compared to mountains of substantial caliber, like West Coast mountains, like Mt. Hood and Rainer and the Tetons and whatnot, our mountains are small and worn out and, if I am to be honest, fairly dull. But today, with the fog lingering at their crest, you couldn’t tell where the tops of the mountains ended and the sky began. If you didn’t know better, if you were a stranger from a far-away land or something, you might have thought that these mountains held some sort of grandeur beneath their cloudy halos.

I’m sure these mountains love days like this, where the mixture of rain and humidity create a partial mask, adding mystery and depth, where the heat of summer wears off and the coolness of fall takes its place. They must be sad, in a way, too, because they know that in a few short weeks, they will shed their summer gowns and be left naked and ugly and alone. It’s almost like a spell is cast upon them each year and, doomed to say goodbye and die, they have one last glimmer of hope and life and newness before they are extinguished.