In April last year I took a road trip alone to Reno to see old friends. On my return trip I stayed one night in the city of Mount Shasta, California, a small town at the base of a mystic mountain. This picture shows Mount Shasta the next morning on my way out of town.
I'm missing mountains and crisp mountain air. The smell of sagebrush and juniper. The sound grasshoppers make. Dry grasses attaching to my socks. Special hues of sunrise and of gloaming at high elevations. Winding, narrow roads. Miles of straight asphalt welcoming speed. Vistas and horizons. All of that, just that.