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Soon the sun will clear the far cliffs, painfully in my eyes, and I will turn away from this scene although no longer in shadow. This saddle between Mt Colden (left) and Avalanche Mountain is a rugged notch, not so much a destination as a traverse to destinations beyond. There is water before me: Avalanche Lake lies under the snow beyond the tree stumps, it's waters lifted over the years by landslides and rockfalls. The course of water down these cliffs is obvious now, snow blown crevices and icefalls stand in relief, expanding and contracting on the rock to break it from the mass on it's own downward journey. Neither the rock or the water can resist the downward attraction. Like other things, I've taken that great force for granted. Not thinking of how my very act of standing is in defiance of it's pull, I stand here shivering in the cold. I don't see the cold, but I feel it and look at it's results. Temperature, invisble, reveals gravity, frozen.
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