We come around the bend just right, and there rising behind the freight cars is the mountain burnished coppery rose in the setting sunlight. On my left, and out of normal position, Tahoma is a tangible symbol of home. Seeing her brings about a sort of peace, a belonging. She doesn’t radiate threat, but reassuring there-ness, an anchor in a world of movement.
Tahoma passes the time on a scale greater than we can see; for her, we aren’t even pixelated points in a time grid. We are so small, so fast and quick, live passing by as she barely moves; we are insignificant in her timestream. But in ours, she is a presence hard to ignore. Rainier for a man who never met her, goddess of the snowy peaks who comes and goes for those who lived their lives in her shadow.
I have lived my life in her shadow for six years, and she has imprinted herrself on my soul. Wherever I go, I end up, Tahoma will always signifiy a small bit of home.