I woke up this Saturday morning thinking about the mountains that we can sometimes see - me on my way to the bus stop, the girls on their way to school. We haven't seen them much lately. They've been shrouded in low-lying cloud cover for a few weeks now - we're well into the rainy season.

But this morning, only a few sparse, wispy clouds accented an otherwise clear blue sky. Just like back home on the prairies, when it's sunny in winter here, it can be colder than normal. And it was colder than normal this morning - around -2 deg Celsius - when I decided to go for a walk to capture the beauty of the mountains, newly frosted by the early winter snowfall and lit up by the early morning sunshine.

I ended up at the girls' school playground, the forever green grass frosted white, so that each step through the field crunched.

Their majestic peaks, hidden for days,

shrouded in grey robes,

now crowned in brilliant white,

bright and glorious,

inspiring and awesome.

The morning sun reveals their towering glory once again,

rising high above the city below,

inspiring the least among the peasants,

to wax poetic.