Moment by moment the light changes on the layer cake ridge, playing over scree fields taller than any Wisconsin peak; on ledges and valleys that only cloud shadows display.
It is glorious.
But by it broods the dark presence of a mountain, that distance doesn't quite make small. Strong nose thrust in the air, it makes the ridge feel small and almost easy.
Grand it seems--but then the mid clouds part and past them above the clouds--the real mountains.
Distant, cold, and always there behind the veil; they daunt, and are hidden again--so huge, so far!
The grandest peaks are tiny flakes on the vast globe we were already placed atop.