Page 77 of Angel

As the tourists made their way along the mountain paths, Paul sat at a picnic table quietly taking in the scene. He looked up, as he often did, to Rainier’s awesome peak. It had become his church and his steeple. He thought about the steeple he had left behind, the clean white spire rising above a little church now run by a new minister. Did the new minister joke with Julie over lunch? Did he have to meditate before meetings with Rella? Did he embrace Mike’s vision of growth, or did they clash? Did anyone place flowers by the modest stone in the churchyard that bore the name of Sara Tobit? Steeples, our man-made mountains, were always meant to outlast the people who built them.

Paul wondered if Ian had ever made it to his mountain. Had a snowcapped summit somewhere become Ian’s steeple? Paul pictured him in the shadow of a peak, maybe in Colorado, awed by the majestic beauty. He imagined the indescribable beauty of sparkling pools and wildflowers in bloom reflected in Ian’s Aegean eyes.

Mount Rainier is a deadly volcano that will bury everything in its path. Yet the mountain is covered in life of all kinds: plants, animals, even species that exist nowhere else on earth. The snowcapped peak, the babbling brooks, the low clouds that hang over the valleys, the interconnected life. It takes your breath away. The seasonal wildflowers, the waterfalls, the patterns of moss—they’re all here on loan. Nature is poised to destroy it all. When you forget that, Paul thought, you forget to cherish it. Maybe everyone should live in the shadow of a volcano. Maybe everyone does. What a shame it would be to stay away because you were afraid it would end. What a shame it would be to miss so much beauty.