front of me. We walk into the lodge, quaintly named Manzanita Village, and shell out a couple bucks for
their biggest cup of coffee, walking upstairs to consume it in silence, away from the bustle of downstairs. A
small window shows the storm raging outside, and we drink in silence, waiting out the blizzard. Thirty minutes later, and still no change. I reach the bottom of my cup, drain the bitter dregs, and decide that, having
come this far, I am going to go out and take a gander to see what I can’t see. Huge orange poles mark the safe
edges of the snowbanks that slouch along the rim of the caldera, and I sit down and hug one, waiting for the
snow to give up its jealous grip on the view. I take a deep breath and think of the secrets of the mountains in
California. Crater Lake plays its cards a little closer to the vest, it seems. Or maybe the green fire isn’t all the
mountains have to tell us. Water and air. Too little can kill you, and so can too much. One mouthful down the
wrong tube, one stray bubble in the brain. Here in the mountains, we teeter on both precipices, finding our
balance in places we would never think to go. The trick is to take that step out, and up. Pedal and breathe. The
mountains will rise to meet you. A glimmer of sunlight dashes through the clouds above, and for just a second, the clouds shift, and a little patch of blue reveals itself below me, wavelets dancing far below. The clouds
over the caldera dissipate, and the snow settles as the wind pushes it across the lake. Crater Lake unmasks
itself for just a moment. I can see across the five miles of open water to where the rim kisses the gray sky on
the other end. The opening lasts just enough time to take a breath, and when I inhale, my lungs feel fuller
than they ever have been before.
cool winter photo by laura by Laura Rethmann