I grew up in the Pacific Northwest, In Seattle, where the sun rises over the Cascade Mountains and sets over the Olympic Mountains. When I went on motorcycle rides, I always headed to the Sawtooth Mountains in  northern Idaho. When I'd go skiing, it was always about getting to the Rockies somehow. When I traveled as a young man, it was to the Himalayas. So it should be no surprise that, now that I've been living in the Midwest for over a decade, my mind has reverted to mountains in my dreams. I wake up and try to hold on to the image of being at the top of some vista, some overlook that gives one a sense of perplexing perspective.

Most of my favorite writers are from the West and lived in mountains. I made reference to this once in a creative writing class I was in, and the professor told me that it should not be surprising, because someone who lives in mountains and looks at mountains always asks the question, "What's on the other side? What does that look like, to be there?" Well, that's the stuff of dreams.

Here I am, in Utah, at the base of mountains.