"The apartment is full of people. Climbers. Its late at night and we are listening to bluegrass music, making banana pancakes on the Coleman stove, drinking tea. There is talk of a trip down to Mexico. The forests are still burning and ashes are building up in my lungs.
Up in Glacier again. All the larch have become a bright yellow, some a strange neon green. There are leaves everywhere. So much of my life spent among brilliant blues and yellows. Everything is muffled. The fall air is haunting and electric as always. I sit by the edge of the lake drinking mate. The color is overwhelming. Perfect reflections on still water keep me absolutely transfixed on the point of vertex. On the blue of the distance.”