A visual diary of my afternoon/evening: I am at work. I look at Mount Bourgeau. I am at Mount Bourgeau. I look at work. I go from Mount Bourgeau back down to work. In between, I look around at the mountains and the yellow aspen, and listen to the wind blowing through the trees, and I climb and do not fall despite the strange slanting of the rock which gives the disconcerting sensation that the mountain is casually shrugging you off.