The dip between the cut monolith of Hermit’s Peak drips with moisture this time of year, the ground swollen with melted snow, mist clinging to each budding leaf each time clouds gather around the hermit’s cave.
The mountain feels alive. Pine trees burst skyward with new growth. Tiny yellow and purple flowers dot sunny secret corners protected from the wind by resting rocks. And mushrooms begin to peek from underneath the thick cover of forest floor, mushrooms in strange shapes and colors, some as thin and wide as dinner plates, some sturdy and scalloped.
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