There were many moments in the mountains. There was the house. Wood outside. Bose surround inside. The windows looked like paintings. Framing the rise of conifers so perfect it would not register. There was the feeling I was too dark and scruffed and armored to be there long. There was the lake. One thousand six hundred deep and fierce blue clear. There was the lake with my sister whom I love, but who does not understand lakes this way. Who does not sit and smoke and breathe in the colors of the clear water to taste them. Who does not laugh trying to chew boulders with her eyes. But it was fast and good. Blood. There were two small voices always asking. Always telling. One time I saw … Small heads always thinking. Always the best questions. The best ideas. Even the best mean, full of deep feeling and no real malice. There was snow covering ridges and houses. There was clear melt water running to Reno. I wanted to swim off the mistakes and scruff and armor. There were houses with souls I’ll never know, all glowing for themselves, drown out by the stars.