This was the time of year when the weather could change noticeably in just minutes. The promise of a warm afternoon vanished as both a high overcast and low, scudding clouds dimmed the sun, and the temperature dropped 10 degrees in one worrisome exhalation. There appeared to be some sort of structure in the close-by foothills at the eastern flank of Mica Mountain, evidenced by a soft glint of light from something metallic shifting in the freshening breeze. If there was going to be a storm blowing in, best not to be caught without shelter, so I headed off the path. Little did I know that such a small, reasonable decision would change me forever.
