Cascades
Looking up and out from the window of the bus, I think you can be forgiven for thinking that you are viewing the sky. With the mist sweeping between the spires of evergreen, sometimes you might even be correct in this naive illusion. But more often than not it would prove to be just that, a trick of the eye, a certainty that crumbles, and the sky you imagined spreading out before you and stretching up larger than creation, just as always, suddenly reveals itself to be the side of a white capped mountain slope, towering up above you into the particulate, mocking any sense of scale you assumed you possessed and felt any confidence in using. Trailing through the curves of the cascades, you lose track of horizon and distance and just how large the wide earth is, and you feel your sense of the infinite displayed for what it really is, a poor and laughable grasping at straws. You think, if this slope of rock is as big as I imagined the sky, what else am I missing?
Or at least you think this briefly, until the next bend in the road reveals the next staggering vista and you think you can see the expansive blueprint of the world, even when you secretly know you are sitting inside of one of its smallest craters.
