There is a magical light reserved for the early riser,
Those willing to brave the dark, the cold, and the mountains.
But 30 seconds is all you get,
A reflection off shiny vertical granite,
Smoothed by glaciers from years ago.
Just as the sun flirts with rising,
Its rays curl over the earth,
And only the red spectrum makes it to the rock,
Turning it a translucent reddish pink.
You gasp,
You marvel,
You feel anxious that it will soon fade.
Then you relax,
you take it in,
Knowing that this…
…this will be a good day.
Mount Whitney (14,505 ft.) a month ago. I was hiking early in the morning at Alabama Hills, not expecting anything, suddenly I looked up and there it was: Alpenglow on the highest mountain in the 48. It felt like it was just for me, and, of course, Mumford (lower left), who didn’t even look up when I told him about it; he just kept sniffing the chaparral. “Thank you, God,” I said.
This a timelapse of Alpenglow over the Palisades Glaciers in the Sierra, just 25 miles north of Whitney.
Beautiful! God speaks most eloquently through nature.