Felt the summit rock from that first real climb warm in my pocket, like the mountain was saying hello after all these years. funny how fear turns into fuel, and then just turns into a memory, like a phantom ache in a limb you don't even have anymore. i guess that's what they mean by grace, not the absence of storms, but the quiet knowing that you already survived the worst of it, and there was beauty there too, even if you couldn't see it for a while.