The walls come tumbling down, shaking, trembling, and I rudely start from my dream, one where my hair cascades to my butt and where I tell Jessica and Carin, neighborhood pals, about my upcoming nuptials. The sky must be falling, I’m certain, but no, it’s just Graham.
Get up, get up, get up, he insists–Cerro Torre is on full display this waking hour, a sleepy megalith waiting its wash of orange.
And, indeed, the pay-off is two-fold, mountain show to the right, artistic interpretation to the left, Joe the painter from Larimer putting to paper what my lens captures, oil pastels thick and rich, one of my favorite mediums.
Beautiful, this farewell day to an unforgettable backpacking trip.