The unnamed ridges of the mountain bowl around this place must remember a time when they were first pressed to the sky.  Their peaks then seeming magnificent even to them.  They were pit-less, and eternal; impervious to sun, rain, wind and the hooves of highland fauna.  From before time until a period without time still, the sky proved every morning their perfection to the lake below.  The ridges needn’t view their reflection to know of their beauty, but why not have a look?  Sea then joined the sky above, surrounding these god-shark teeth with mar.  The ocean came and seized them in countless tides.  These cliffs became home to prowling Leviathan, hunting innocent prey; first in darkness, then into light for supper, back into the shadow of the ridges under sea.  For another time-less season he mapped their every crevice with his scale-slicked fins making use of every trick of light, every pull of the moon.  Mountains were not made to dwell in the fowl of serpent brine.  

The sky reclaimed the ridges, drained now of sea and all but the memory of sea.  They are scarred and craggy.  Their pores are filled in with wind-driven soil and plants brought by bird droppings.  Looking down into the lake is painful now.  A land once without blemish is reminded of her many years in darkness, brining darkness, hiding the predator, giving him an avenue to the weak.  It is so difficult to see why God loves her.  And yet He does without hesitation, or stutter in His stride and speech.  He loves her and has willed that she become as rich as any storehouse for the hungry, wandering sparrow or the seed in need of shelter from the world.  Seeking life, protection, food, and wise instruction; to the humble unnamed ridges of the mountain bowl around this place they come.  Leviathan has no power in this place, for God has seized it once again, in love.