Piercing Rays. And Sandwiches.

As I watched the morning sunlight flit between whispering leaves, making kaleidoscopic patterns on the dirt trail—as I sweated profusely and breathed rhythmically—I remembered a hike with my mom many years ago, probably over a decade, accompanied by two dogs who have long since died. And I remembered that we climbed in the clouds—up, up, up—until we reached something magical: the sun's rays literally piercing through the clouds, creating that visual ray effect you normally only see in movies or photographs. And we kept climbing—through the rays, through the clouds—until they were nothing but a pillowy, puffy white blanket beneath us. We reached the top of the mountain and ate sandwiches in the sun. Delicious sandwiches, because my mom always did—and still does—make the best sandwiches.

And everyone knows a sandwich is better when someone else makes it.