This was an evening like any other. The light was almost horizontal across the landscape as it was every summer night before the sun set.
A cloud came out of, what seemed to be, nowhere. It consumed the sky and painted the world, as far as you could see, a strange burnt orange. It passed over the mountains like an intruder staking his claim.
Everything looked different. As I looked toward these nine peaks that claim the Top of Idaho, I was no longer in the state whose name means light on the mountains.
I was in Africa.
As fast as it arrived, it departed. A powerful guest who only visited a few moments before moving on. Perhaps it sensed the majestic truths these mountains hold, and knew better than to mess around with their strength and power.