****Note 8:19 pm…still August 29, 2000


I thought the mountain would speak. Native Americans call her Mount Tahoma…Rainier—in modern tongue. A total white out not only greeted me but also haunted the soul, which had traveled an entire nation to reach this destination. My heart forced me to use the imagination. I was to challenge each memory created through pictures—to build my own journey while standing on a mountain you could see for miles, yet I couldn’t…and I was standing on her face. Imagine a white sheet of paper—seen is your hand…but the background is missing. I saw no glaciers or granite walls—only rows of unperfected raindrops that melted together inside puddles of scented peace. I heard nothing…it makes me weak in the eyes and this heart has chosen to no longer believe.