M is for Mountain

There are beautiful mountains all over the world. I live in the shadow of Mt. Rainier, have seen the snow covered mountain ranges of Alaska, and stood at the base of the Matterhorn and the Swiss Alps. But none have my heart as much as the mountain of my youth.

I grew up at the base of Mt. Shasta. For over 18 years of my life, I woke to her majesty. Covered in snow or with just her glaciers hanging to her sides, Mt. Shasta has always claimed my heart.

For some, she is a sacred place, one of the spiritual wonders of the world. For others she holds the secrets of the Lemurians, a lost race of people, provides a landing point for UFOs, or the dwelling of bigfoot.

For me she is home. My mom and I used to drive up the winding highway that leads to her flank and watch the Perseid Meteor shower. My dad woke us up when I was about 16 to see the Northern Lights shimmer over her peak.

If you ever get to Northern California, stop by and see her.

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