October 29, 2004
There is no echo on this mountain. There is no place for it to grow. The snow swallows everything. The snow has swallowed the biggest rock, the daylight sun. It has swallowed the lodges and groves of trees. At night the snow swallows the stars from the sky, cold tongue licking the belly, greedily slurping down points of light, inhaling thousands at a time, popping planets like chocolate covered raisins, Quiet snow, lovely patters that all dissolve into white on white, the princess of excellent notions, the excitement of trees, buried quietly, behind banks piled higher than God's own tower.