Did the alpenglow surprise you, or startle you, or make you feel a sensation — illusory as it was — of being small or aware of Angels, or God — or whatever capitalized words you believe in now — manifest in front of you as only nature, in all its unashamed celebrity can — and did you wonder how to bottle it up, make it permanent, perfect, profitable — of course not, that's rubbish — you just stopped, and stood, and felt the alpenglow — as the sun dipped and dripped everything in whisps of rose gold — softening the edges of a harsh, wild white — watching light and rock play illusionist's tricks — mountain and sky juxtaposed, basking in post-coital alpenglow