Driving to work

The sun is almost too bright against the melting snow along the roads. There are clouds in the sky, but they are fine and wispy, like the hair of a small blonde girl. I look for my mountains and cannot find them - the clouds come down the to ground. Timpanogos is waving proudly above them, only the tip of the horn visible. The clouds swirl and part; I glimpse the rock beyond them. With a whoosh of sunlight, they close again and I am left with only the hint and promise of something more.