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Standing Tall

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Standing at the base of the mountains, I stare upward into the slightly cloudy, blue sky. Those billows of water particles held together high above the ground even have to look up to the top of the highest peak. Among the lower peaks in the Teton Range, it appears that chimneys are funneling smoke through their tops. The snow blankets the top of the peaks where temperature cannot conquer the snowfall. Nothing can act as an equal to the grand sculptures that nature has put forth.

Come nightfall, the lack of urbanization reveals the starry night, without an inch of the dark canvas wasted. A young child loses himself playing connect-the-dots with every star he sees. These massive, luminous balls of plasma held together by gravity are a sight to behold; each one is in constant competition to outshine one another. The full moon reflects the light emitted from the center of our solar system onto the glowing pearly white peaks of the range, acting as a navigation landmark for anything within sight.

This is not a peopled wilderness. Creeks hastily flow through the side of the mountain, carving a pathway onto the side of the slope. The untamed creations of the land seek peace and protection with all that the mountains can provide. Shelter arises in the form of trees and brush, and taken refuge by any creature that comes to claim it. Everything that exists on the range acknowledges that for choosing to reside on the mountains, that it therefore must be less than they. All the wildlife must feel like ants, for when each times they glance upward, they that see the beast that is the Tetons. Standing at the base of the mountains, I stare upward onto the range; I have never felt smaller.





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