A Glimpse of the Mountain

I came to Seattle on my last geographic, in 1989. Surely this final move, coupled with my recent marriage of desperation, would fix whatever was wrong with me. Like my life and my hopes, I was near the end. Any day that was not worse than the previous day was a good one. I was drinking just to stay alive so I could get on with dying. Like Mt. Rainier, for me, hope was elusive. For months after I arrived, I heard how beautiful sight the mountain is. The inclement weather kept it hidden from view.