I was lying in bed yesterday morning, looking out our second story bedroom window, through the barren tree branches, at the roof tops of houses on the opposite side of the block…enjoying the beauty of a bleak November morning, totally awash in the bright white light of an early morning overcast sky. I became fixated on the clear lines of a gable roof in the center of my cone of vision. I studied the lines of the trim boards, the pattern of the shingles, the overall shape and distinct hips and valleys of this particular roof. The observations collided with a thought I was having. I became enthralled with that gable roof, its generic-ness and its archetypal-ness. Why and how did people first come to that shape? Was it the epitome of efficiency? Was it that we are inextricably drawn to that shape despite its inefficiency? What else could that triangle-ness be? Aha, could it be that that triangle-ness bears an uncanny resemblance to our archetypal symbolism for a mountain? If so, then perhaps we have never really left the safety of the cave. We have symbolically reconstructed the mountain within which our cave is located.