VESSEL of the heights, a chalice of stone filled with the gold of the Work. He appeareth as a great cirque among dark summits, his floor brimming with gilded tundra and his walls veined with the last white of the snow, the clouds assembling above the rim like witnesses leaning over a rite. His office is to hold the gilding up to heaven: in the low country the gold pools in forests and valleys, but here it is lifted in bare hands of rock to the very weather. Whatever is poured into him — snow, light, the brief alpine summer — comes out transmuted or not at all. The mountains keep their treasure as the old masters kept theirs: high, cold, and in plain sight.
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