I spent the weekend helping Amy collect her things from Spokane.
We rode Amtrak up and drove a rented truck back, filled with boxes, a futon, a dresser, and a chair. (Homethings.)
We came home on I-84, heading West from Umatilla.
The freeway follows the Columbia on its slow and powerful trip to the sea.
In the midst of following the road following the river, the sun began to go down.
Beyond everything, directly in the Columbia's path, Mt. Hood stretched and yawned and settled in at 11,245 feet.
I looked at the mountain (a whisper of a mountain with the sun settling over it just so) and thought:
I climbed you.
And just as I was settling into my weak and petty pride, I remembered that the mountain has the power to take life in seconds.
I remember the mountain exercising that power.
