Go to the top of any one and you are a fleck in time. The summit shows the next range. No matter where you are, the top is always ten miles away and three miles up.
Sea shells are in the rock.
The oldest trees are here. History is here in flint arrowheads, in the heavy metal of tailings, in sagging gray wood and chimney stumps. The sky overarches even the chiefs. It is a cobalt shell. In a field of Indian Paintbrush I looked up through to behind the sky.