As our camper rounded a curve on a mountain roadway somewhere in the U.S. Rockies, my parents called back to me to look at the snow-capped peak that had come into view. The white mountain top on that summer day must have been a captivating sight.
But it paled in comparison to the installment of the The Lord of the Rings trilogy I was reading. “Cool,” I shouted over the din of rattling pots and pans as I tried to focus on a paragraph that would reveal Frodo’s fate.