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Mt. St. Helena often seemed to br moving, shouldering through the skies to the ast of the valley where we lived in California.  Trees hid the mountain from view from our house but when my parents gave permission, I would walk out into the fields or stand on the slopees of a foothill, lost in wonderment.  I had seen castles in the books of fairy tales and now I saw castles flaoting in the sky, graceful sipres and turrets.  Mysteriously, and to my daily delight, the mountain changed color almost from hour to hour throughout the day.  The delicate blues and greens of early morning became a purple haze at mid-day, and at last , in the brief California twilight, the mountain wrapped itself in a mantle of royal blue.  Oh, magic mountain!  No Japanese child, bewtiched by the sight of Fujiyama, ever was more enchanted than I by the beauty and mystery of my mountain.

Looking back, I see that even as a child I was instinctively

Transcription Notes:
typos transcribed as in original.