The direct ascent to Saddle Pass is not particularly steep but does become difficult when rain has turned the ground into mud.
Much of the landscape is in fact rather viscose, it flows.
And there is little that attempts resistance.
Curiously, there are not even little ponds where the water stays. Everything disappears, slowly.
All the apparent permanence of this landscape is illusion.
Surprisingly though, this universal giving in acquires an esthetic quality in its abstraction.
Dissolution has become a state.
The Inner Frame 