Dragons could live in these mountains. The peaks are caped in skirling, moody mist, trees clot thickly on the lower slopes. The foliage is new fresh green, layered and lacy and lush.
I don’t miss the prairies. I don’t miss the flat dry scrubby grey and brown flat lines, the blank horizon, the blank listless people.
Going to BC, moving to the coast. Here we are in the mountains, where I can hear the song of the stone, and where little mysteries wander through the mist, and the weather is mercurial and revitalizing.
It feels so much more alive.
Tags: Dragons, Mist, Mountains, Travel
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