The Mountain Won’t Know My Name

Yesterday, I drove across the Province of British Columbia. A trip literally from the shoreline of Georgia Straight to the Great Divide at the Alberta border, and then I continued to Calgary. It took 13+ hours for the journey including stops for fuel, road coffee and a bowl of chilli.

Darkness at the beginning and darkness at the end brought definition to full grey tones of a day filled with slush, compact snow and clouds of dirty road spray on the windshield. Only once did the sky open, allowing sunshine to touch the earth as a breathless whisper of light at the summit of Rogers Pass.

The moment seems so very paintable. But painting isn’t possible. There is nowhere to park: nowhere to open the paint box. Not enough time either.

The alternative is to stop to take a photo. A quick shot with my phone camera as I stand beside the car. “Click”, and at once the moment spoils: I get back into my car just as a large truck passes spraying a monsoon over everything.

The grandeur, simply the grandeur, makes the camera image: snow white brilliance with blue sky showcasing magnificence. Dazzling.
Don’t know if the mountain has a name. Certainly, the mountain won’t know my name. Simply a connection during a flash of sunshine.