A westward bound Delta flight, in comfort, well cared for and well fed. The return portion of a trip commenced six days prior. Ahead by some 2000 miles rears the volcanic mass of Mt. Hood as it serves to separate the Willamette Valley from the Columbia plateau, all the while collecting and generating weather systems that at times may beckon and at others repel. Today I already know it is crystalline white, a glorious expression of nature’s geologic forces, bathed in sunshine and a frosty blue sky, cloaked in snow and ice. Information gleaned from my early-awakened Portland teenagers via a rudely early phone call from Atlanta, a brief stop between Miami and the mountain that has been my immediate neighbor and the sentinel on the horizon for twenty-six years. I am also getting to view it in real time on the seat back screen in front of me. It looks nothing like the mountain and weather of six days ago.
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