I don't need to ask where the energy comes from, but just let the ripples flow from head to toe and back again, and maybe out the tips of my fingers or through parted lips. Such a morning as this, in the car on 99 headed to the gym and there was the mountain like a scoop of ice cream melting into the city. Snow had fallen overnight and Rainier was entirely pink in the very early morning sunlight. All the drivers were gasping in their cars, I know it. It was so breathtakingly beautiful I wanted nothing other than to keep driving toward it, fast and furiously, as if only stomping on the pedal could release the pressure building inside. I stayed on 99 for the little bit of uninterrupted speed it allowed, gliding by the yawning buildings toward a mountain unattainable. But I was going to the gym to work it all out. I was going there at that moment to park and walk down the hill. There weren't any parking spaces though - not free ones anyhow, which are the only kind I mean. I drove around and around the same few blocks waiting for some late sleeper to come out and make a hole in the metal bricks aligned end to end, but it didn't happen. I even began to think that I was unaware of some holiday, but I knew that wasn't true. Too much turning round in circles, passing the same guy standing on the corner, that same cop who might see me listening to my headphones while driving. So I centrifuged free of it. To the east, toward the rugged Cascades pale blue in heavy snow. The faster I went, the farther away from schedule I traveled, but they never grew larger or closer or more attainable. I wanted to try, turning up the music loud and racing on that smooth concrete that bends gradually up to the gap. I could've kept it going and abandoned all plans. I would do that: If I want it bad enough I will make it happen. (The question is, why aren't you more like that?) I thought I should keep my ski boots in the car and flee to the hills on Monday mornings instead of rotating stairs at the gym. Maybe I will. The car is warm, each wheel spinning perfect circles, the stereo sound crisp. I see the ridges above: bony shoulders of the sleeping one. And other things dancing in my head: Children walking hand in hand through a stand of trees, black in diffused lamplight. A nighttime forest excites the mystery of shapes that lie like giant dying rodents or a beast with two backs.... I feel like tearing my clothes off and diving into ice-green surf so cold the rocks are heard shivering under every pounding wave. I imagine removing each piece, pausing to weigh the advantages and disadvantages of my underwear as de facto bikini. Better have all the clothes dry. Better not be coy with the lapping tongue.... Greens and blues and such gold like I've never seen woven in the water. I remember finally where I've seen that pattern before: Calcifications clustered in my own breast as they are rendered in mammogram. It looks like suns in other galaxies captured by earthly telescopes.... I began to sing and then yell and finally just shriek in short bursts. (There is a tendency to close one's eyes while screaming, which is not advisable while driving with speedometer at 2:00.) Screaming until not bursting anymore. Heading: west. I above metropolis could see it humble and insignificant before the Olympics. I knew it wasn't over yet and I could feel it building again: Oh, to climb high on there! It's not some Lilliputian fantasy: I just want to see the world as they do.