We’re on top of a mountain. Literally.
We run across the landscape and spin like Maria in The Sound of Music.
It’s the harsh tundra. It’s 11,700 feet. It’s cold, and the wind whips about us.
We came for the grandeur, and it overwhelms me every time. It’s sublime in the real sense of the word.
I remember, though, that the sublime comes in the small things, too.
You see what grows in such harsh conditions. You think about the bitter cold and snow that’s here most of the year. You look down and can’t imagine how such stark, frozen living produces this:
They’re tiny, but they’re there.
Even in the harshest conditions–even in the Alpine Tundra–something blooms in time.