Sunrise

Mount Sloan can be seen from all over this town, from the highway as you drive into town and up the hill to Bralorne. I look upon it from the front door of the school, watch it stand as a sentry over the valley as I walk home from work, see it peek from between the trees in the front yard of my house, from beyond the cliffs on the walks I take with Sanford. One morning last week I was lucky enough to look back as I left my house and started the one minute (literally) walk towards the school, and caught this glimpse of the golden sun held in the clouds like a halo of light above this mountain, the daily backdrop to my life here.

This weekend I took my family up to the old fire watch cabin on Green Mountain, which is the rounded hump to the far left of Sloan's peak. We looked out over the view of Bralorne, of Gold Bridge, of the cavity of mountains holding us high above the carpet of trees and clearcut patches below. I showed them the routes I've taken ski touring in the winter. I think they started to sense a little of what it is that makes me so happy here. How close nature is for me. Although they were sweating. I forget that not everyone routinely hikes or bikes up mountains on their days off. Oops.

Gazing upon the razor edge of the same mountain through a full rotation of the seasons is part of the magic that holds my heart cupped in its palms. I'm hoping to hike up to the top before the winter spreads her blanket over the valley, but time is quick and my days are full.