Some fragments of memories etch themselves deeper than others, perhaps because they shape us. Rainier National Park now lives only in memory, but it lingers like a vivid dream: the rush of water, the gentle sway of meadows, and every color imaginable scattered across the grass.The alarm was set for 4 a.m. I packed my art supplies and headed for the trail. Usually, when painting in national parks, I find a beautiful and easily accessible spot to set up but, I knew this morning would be different. I had a specific place in mind, one we had discovered a few days earlier. The morning was dark and cold, and I hadn’t dressed nearly well enough. Still, I walked about a mile through the dark silence to reach it.It was then I realized I was completely alone.We had come just in time for wildflower season, and I felt lucky as there’s not a joy like a flower can bring me. All about little towers of lavender, scarlet, blue, white, and yellow dotted the green meadows. While setting up, I often paused to admire these flowers shivering in the breeze, with blue butterflies hovering and landing on their blossoms. Just as my brush touched the paper, the sun stretched out its coral arms and unfolded Mount Rainier from its deep blue slumber. The glacier began to glow. The cliffs, immense and still, became a grand stage for the meadows and streams spread out below.There are moments in life too monumental to rush through. So I paused and sat down beside the fields of lupine and Indian paintbrush, which seemed to bow in reverence to the grandeur of the morning. And perhaps that’s what makes this memory stand out: not just the view, but the stillness, the solitude, and the sense of awe that rooted me in place.