One morning I am captivated by the view outside our bedroom window, and grab my phone to take a photo.
The next day I’m struck by the contrast, because snow has fallen and the sky says more is coming. I do it again.
On the third day, clouds are low and snow falls soft and the view is gone—there’s only white outside the window. What was still is behind the cloud, but it’s not photo-worthy.
If I could transport myself across the ridge I could put my hand on the ground and feel the hardness of the hillside. If I could walk there I might see frozen flora and foraging fauna and my experience of being in the midst would be different than that of observing it from a distance.
It seems there is both mystery and truth in all of that.