Mt. Constitution (Orcas p. II)

The path hugged the lake shore like a loose sweater, the pines providing a canopy from the grey musty sky. We moved quickly, pumping warm blood into our toes, cold from the hour and not yet warmed up in the space of time it took us to slip on cold clothes and shoes and creep out to the van after a few hurried mouthfuls of cereal. The trail began to climb, and our little train spread out over a quarter of a mile--the energetic ones up ahead and the ones still waking up behind. Finally, bursting out of the woods and panting from exertion, we came out on top of the world. Across the water we saw the clouds parting to shed some sunlight on the mainland. From our vantage point, we watched the world rise and stretch from its deep slumber. The trees fell away beneath us, the island's lakes shining out from the forest like gems. All around us we could see islands rising out of the fog, like mountains, but for the waves kissing their shores. The words of the island rushed up to us, and we heard it all: all the laughter and the tears and the screams and the whispers. And then we stumbled back down the ridge, gloriously in awe of the beauty of the world, and pulled on by thoughts of pancakes and bacon and hot chocolate that awaited us beyond the foot of the mountain.