Even when considering their height, mountains fall short of reaching Dorothy’s standard of discovering the place over the rainbow. Perhaps their winds do not sing the key in tune, too much like a cranky cervelat or bored bassoon. Could crayoned arc fear their self as goal through which summiter defenestrates victory volley? Will fearless achievers attempt funambulism across floating fan of fine? Maybe the caveman and the leprechaun are meant never to rendezvous—except in dreams, where golden ends finally meet silver means. ; )