Heavily blanketed in smoky cloud, blue with sage, deep green with ground cover, yellowed with bursts of flower sulking wiltily in the moist haze.
To the west the smoky clouds rise from the meadows to cover the beaten mountain like a vaporous lid.
To the east the shoulder of a drab, beaten rock, speckled with sage and grassy tufts sits dormant and crumbling, its flinty shards jutting just enough to seem barren.
Ahead rise the jutting teeth of the gray giants, sprouting stonily, white with snow, from a dark gray shoulder of rock dressed in the blue green of sage and pine.
A northerly view along state highway 120, written in real time.
