George sat on a small granite boulder by his tent and looked out over the Wallowa Mountains. He could see the narrow trail he had hiked in on snaking and curving from one side of the valley to the other and ultimately down the entire length of it past his sight. The valley was lined on each side with evergreen trees and occupied by huge pieces of the granite mountains. His fire crackled and spit behind him as he looked at the orange sun sinking behind one of the larger peaks. “The sunsets are different here than in the city.” He thought as he fed his fire. The clear, thin, mountain air didn’t hold the orange light in the same thick and sticky way. It was a brighter light, and it seemed to take up the entire sky as it shimmered from its origin. The light didn’t sit in the sky but instead leapt from behind the top peak of the mountain and shone in on the entire valley, illuminating the trees, boulders and wild grass and flowers with its orange and silver light. The black shadow of the mountain came closer and closer to George until it covered him and his tent. He could see the light, it was completely silver now, shining on and past the edges of the mountain. The moon was fairly visible now, and only a sliver of the glowing rock was illuminated this night. The red-orange light from the fire flickered behind him, giving him a glowing silhouette that ceased and regained whenever the light fluttered. The mountain air surrounding him was thin and cold, but it was marvelously still, as it was shielded from wind by the valley. He could hear nothing but the crackling and spitting of the fire, the chirping of crickets, and the sound of his own thoughts. George sat on the grey, granite boulder, and bathed in the shimmering silver moonlight and the flickering orange-red light of the fire.
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