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November 7, 2010
The trail was nothing but dust and ancient, crumbling rocks. Halfway up the mountain, two boulders sat across from each other--smooth topped and ponderous. This was, time after time, the place hikers chose to stop, rest, and stare--panting--into each others' gleaming faces.

Many men climbed this mountain, I'm told. Men in boots that look just the same and so many bags slung over their backs that each step slams to the ground like a weary god's. They make their own earthquakes, these tired men.

The town is visible from here, but no one stops for the view.