Climbing through the fog. I see but 30 feet in front of me. We are climbing, and it doesn’t stop. I’m out of gears, in pain, sweating all of last night’s beer out of my skin before the sun is above the hills. We climb on.

The gravel road levels out, bends around and opens to a vista. An entire field of fog, perfectly back lit with silhouettes of trees framing the edges, burns off every so slightly, allowing a surreal scene to unfold. We see the valley below, and the picturesque body of water at the bottom. The fog frames a landscape one might never see twice. It’s perfect, and beautiful, and we understand it is a reward of our hard work.

We spend some time soaking in the fantastical atmosphere, completely unaware of where we are, unburdened by any troubles or stress. We are thankful for this gift of beauty the land has offered us. The dense fog rolls in again. We climb on.


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