It was the kind of autumn afternoon when foolish hope was the only reason you expect the sun to break through the clouds. The mass of fluff hung grey and low. With each step the clouds moved that much more within my reach.
Soon I wandered through a forest of tall trees draped in lichen and dark, grey fog. As the mist touched my cheek, I breathed in and breathed out feelings of contentment for no particular reason.
“No,” I said to myself, “there will be no sightings of Mt. Hood today.” I breathed in the moist and cool air content with being outdoors. “The yellow fall leaves clinging to forest floor will be my sunshine,” I smiled to no one in particular.
Traversing a rocky and brush-infested segment of my path, my eyes watched each footfall. Emerging into a clearing, I lifted my eyes. Abruptly welcomed by Mt. Hood and a sunbeam dancing above the trees and clouds I exclaimed, “Whoa!” to the divine one in particular.