Mount Baker blushes pink at the setting of the sun.
Well, we were lucky to get up there when we did-- snow has already closed off the road to Artists Point. Now we'll have to wait for next year to explore the other trails!
The boys bent, smiling. They picked the golden flowers.
The flowers that flooded the world, dripped off lawns onto brick streets, tapped
softly at crystal cellar windows and agitated themselves so that on all sides
lay the dazzle and glitter of molten sun.
"Every year," said Grandfather. "They run amuck; I let them.
Pride of lions in the yard. Stare, and they burn a hold in your
retina. A common flower, a weed that no one sees, yes. But for us, a
noble thing, the dandelion."