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It was a form of pain such as I had never experienced before. Not to be mistaken for physical distress, but more an overwhelming sense of fatigue. Enraged by the pounding cold that swept over me. Yet so long as this world stood before me, no pain was too great. ‘Twas a world that brought flutters to my hastily beating heart. The snow-capped summits belonging to the great families of mountains, roaming the ravaged splendour of the landscape. The sky, stroked with ripples of pink and gold, painted by the very greatest of artists, yet with all the innocent subtlety of a child’s picture book.
Harsh reality, and unrivalled beauty all at the same time. All my life I had dreamed for this - this moment in time. Yet can you ever appreciate something to its most deserved? Could you even begin to comprehend the majesty that surrounds you? You try, oh yes. But it is like staring from beyond a misted window. For it is all there, mapped out before you – the top of the world, yet it is not there. How could such splendour exist upon our mortal-coil? Such is the raw power that resides within the great hallways of rock, that you simply cannot bequeath it the full inspiration that you feel. You wrestle with the notion as you gaze out across the canopy of terrifying majesty, hound yourself to perceive its very being. Strive for the realisation, but you simply cannot.
Not such a terrible thing, I recall thinking.
As I stood there, powerful wraiths of wind rushing to greet me, I felt as if each and every bone, muscle, hair – everything, complimented my new-found sense of exhaustion; aching to a near unbearable degree. This mountain, this lord and master, reigning supreme over all things, had come so close to prematurely claiming me as its own. With each howl of fury that carried upon its wind, I had felt another shard of myself slowly, yet unquestionably, splintering away. The sheer black rock of the mountain face appeared to whisper maliciously to me, filling me with doubt, struggling to convince me of inevitability: that I could never win. That I would concede in shame like the others. The ones before me whom the great beast had claimed.
Unseen heathens, summoned by the beast, tearing and scratching at my hands, foreboding upon me, attempting to pry my numb hands away from their rock. I prayed to the point of deranged misery that I should find strength. The higher will to carry on. I cannot begin to tell you how many times I felt the darkness close in upon my vision. Striving to plunge me into that pit of despair, followed by nothing at all. No pain. No desperation. I came close to accepting the mountain’s offer. To end it right there. But with each time I felt my eyes ease shut, as if readying for a long sleep, I felt her smell flicker through into me - a rich, wonderful smell of summer flowers. And with it her voice, crying out for me to keep going. A voice that the great mountain had once silenced.
At times, I felt myself slipping ever closer to madness, clinging onto the mountain’s bosom, and yet there I now stood. Garments ravaged by the beast’s hatred for me. My conscious mind having tendered the idea of giving way to it. But there I stood. Staring out over the great forest of mountains, toying with the idea of their forestation counterparts. I felt a weak, barely distinguishable smile creep onto my face, as I let the thought humour me, that that there smaller (so to speak) assembly of great rock, resembles the gentler majesty of the old apple-tree; a kinder, more tender approach to mountain-hood. Or the tall, slender summit the hundreds of miles east, a distance that I make in nary a second. Surely that must compare favourably to the delicacy of a silver birch. Meek and shy, distancing itself from the overwhelming ferocity of the giants. They in themselves the kindred of the grand masters of the forest. Towering conifers, mighty oaks (representatives of the unrelenting, well-built monoliths).
Before my eyes, my imagination had fired a great forest before me. Inducing memories of my young self, running merrily, weaving in and out of the forests of home, a trickle of tears now ensuing quietly. Yet surely those forests do pale in comparison to what stands at my feet. A wonderful canopy of momentous splendour. The greatest of all forests. Overhung by an unspoilt, crystal-clear ocean of blue skies. In my ears, I overhear the screech of eagles, akin to that of a sorrowful cry of the mountain wind. And I felt myself slipping further into my own, special world. Never wanting to let it go.
Yet still there lingered a mysterious thought. A lone whisper within my head. What mountain-tree should I stand upon? What does tower above all else? What has me? And it was then - the moment when the great canopy of trees collapsed before me, and once more upon their place stood the cold, rugged, canopy of snow-peaked mountaintops – that the realisation, one that I had unwillingly regarded all along, hit me with the scream of snowbound wind.
Still the great mountain craved more. It moaned with the serenade of the lone piper atop the hills. Never would it be satisfied with my mere standing atop it. ‘Twas as if I had cradled the idol that my ancestor and I had coveted for so, so long - an idol that had haunted me in sleeping and waking hours - only for it to fade away in my hands. To run away between my fingers true to sand in the cold wind of the mountain. Still I hand one last task to fulfil.
Whilst I lingered, my leg arched slightly on a small outcrop of rock, I felt the shadows creep ever so gradually across my face. In the distance, seemingly the only presence that could conquer the wrath of the mountain forest, the modest, rose-tinged sun eased itself ever-downwards towards the sea of the mountaintops. It carried with it humility, itself preparing for a decline through the canopy of peaks. My eyes followed it, as it lowered further, whispers carrying upon the wind. Still the shadows grew across my face. Unwavering, admirably steady, hinting at the time about to follow. Not a wisp of doubt encroaching upon mind. The time was now.
As I moved with the passage of a spirit to the brink of the summit’s edge, the ice of the wind howled throughout my surroundings, complimenting the now soulless world of the black rock, touched with a cap of pristine white snow. It urged me further, impatiently, mercilessly - the howl of a damned soul. I cast one final look over the mountaintops as I readied myself. Across the golden-pink-clad grace of the sky in the climax of its nigh-on sorrowful sunset, and finally, to the bottom of the great beast. No sound escaped me, my chest still.
Silence forebode upon me. And I let go.
Timeless. A feeling of eternities held within seconds. The world relinquished the rules of its being. My presence suspended in unfathomable bliss. But soon, the mountain rushed, with the honed speed of a leopard in full sprint, the sound of its quickening black heart resounding around me. And with it whistled the sudden uproar of excruciatingly frozen air. It pulled at me, clawed at me, hands from the deep reaching up for their bounty. Projectiles of untamed snow raged at me with the savagery of the Gatling gun. And as my numb body plummeted through space, my ravaged eyes caught a final picture of the mountains, no-
A great forest. The greatest of all. Splendid and serene. Touched by the edge of an unspoilt blue sky in the marvel of a midday sun. The leaves rustled contentedly in the cool breeze, the knot-holed trunks creaked mischievously, as to that of an old man, gently rocking back and forth in his chair, an amused chuckle escaping him. And as the sunray-touched canopy of fiery colours of gold, red, and orange, awaited me; I allowed myself one final glance at the great beast.
And I felt peace ripple over me, as I took in a final, grand image of a young woman, with nose and eyes curiously familiar to that of my own, smiling down on me from beyond the great canopy. Her beautiful face filled my mind’s-eye, as I sniffed gently. Taking in a rich, wonderful smell of summer flowers, as thus, I slipped, unquestioned, into the eternal midst, of the forests’ timeless splendour.
Harsh reality, and unrivalled beauty all at the same time. All my life I had dreamed for this - this moment in time. Yet can you ever appreciate something to its most deserved? Could you even begin to comprehend the majesty that surrounds you? You try, oh yes. But it is like staring from beyond a misted window. For it is all there, mapped out before you – the top of the world, yet it is not there. How could such splendour exist upon our mortal-coil? Such is the raw power that resides within the great hallways of rock, that you simply cannot bequeath it the full inspiration that you feel. You wrestle with the notion as you gaze out across the canopy of terrifying majesty, hound yourself to perceive its very being. Strive for the realisation, but you simply cannot.
Not such a terrible thing, I recall thinking.
As I stood there, powerful wraiths of wind rushing to greet me, I felt as if each and every bone, muscle, hair – everything, complimented my new-found sense of exhaustion; aching to a near unbearable degree. This mountain, this lord and master, reigning supreme over all things, had come so close to prematurely claiming me as its own. With each howl of fury that carried upon its wind, I had felt another shard of myself slowly, yet unquestionably, splintering away. The sheer black rock of the mountain face appeared to whisper maliciously to me, filling me with doubt, struggling to convince me of inevitability: that I could never win. That I would concede in shame like the others. The ones before me whom the great beast had claimed.
Unseen heathens, summoned by the beast, tearing and scratching at my hands, foreboding upon me, attempting to pry my numb hands away from their rock. I prayed to the point of deranged misery that I should find strength. The higher will to carry on. I cannot begin to tell you how many times I felt the darkness close in upon my vision. Striving to plunge me into that pit of despair, followed by nothing at all. No pain. No desperation. I came close to accepting the mountain’s offer. To end it right there. But with each time I felt my eyes ease shut, as if readying for a long sleep, I felt her smell flicker through into me - a rich, wonderful smell of summer flowers. And with it her voice, crying out for me to keep going. A voice that the great mountain had once silenced.
At times, I felt myself slipping ever closer to madness, clinging onto the mountain’s bosom, and yet there I now stood. Garments ravaged by the beast’s hatred for me. My conscious mind having tendered the idea of giving way to it. But there I stood. Staring out over the great forest of mountains, toying with the idea of their forestation counterparts. I felt a weak, barely distinguishable smile creep onto my face, as I let the thought humour me, that that there smaller (so to speak) assembly of great rock, resembles the gentler majesty of the old apple-tree; a kinder, more tender approach to mountain-hood. Or the tall, slender summit the hundreds of miles east, a distance that I make in nary a second. Surely that must compare favourably to the delicacy of a silver birch. Meek and shy, distancing itself from the overwhelming ferocity of the giants. They in themselves the kindred of the grand masters of the forest. Towering conifers, mighty oaks (representatives of the unrelenting, well-built monoliths).
Before my eyes, my imagination had fired a great forest before me. Inducing memories of my young self, running merrily, weaving in and out of the forests of home, a trickle of tears now ensuing quietly. Yet surely those forests do pale in comparison to what stands at my feet. A wonderful canopy of momentous splendour. The greatest of all forests. Overhung by an unspoilt, crystal-clear ocean of blue skies. In my ears, I overhear the screech of eagles, akin to that of a sorrowful cry of the mountain wind. And I felt myself slipping further into my own, special world. Never wanting to let it go.
Yet still there lingered a mysterious thought. A lone whisper within my head. What mountain-tree should I stand upon? What does tower above all else? What has me? And it was then - the moment when the great canopy of trees collapsed before me, and once more upon their place stood the cold, rugged, canopy of snow-peaked mountaintops – that the realisation, one that I had unwillingly regarded all along, hit me with the scream of snowbound wind.
Still the great mountain craved more. It moaned with the serenade of the lone piper atop the hills. Never would it be satisfied with my mere standing atop it. ‘Twas as if I had cradled the idol that my ancestor and I had coveted for so, so long - an idol that had haunted me in sleeping and waking hours - only for it to fade away in my hands. To run away between my fingers true to sand in the cold wind of the mountain. Still I hand one last task to fulfil.
Whilst I lingered, my leg arched slightly on a small outcrop of rock, I felt the shadows creep ever so gradually across my face. In the distance, seemingly the only presence that could conquer the wrath of the mountain forest, the modest, rose-tinged sun eased itself ever-downwards towards the sea of the mountaintops. It carried with it humility, itself preparing for a decline through the canopy of peaks. My eyes followed it, as it lowered further, whispers carrying upon the wind. Still the shadows grew across my face. Unwavering, admirably steady, hinting at the time about to follow. Not a wisp of doubt encroaching upon mind. The time was now.
As I moved with the passage of a spirit to the brink of the summit’s edge, the ice of the wind howled throughout my surroundings, complimenting the now soulless world of the black rock, touched with a cap of pristine white snow. It urged me further, impatiently, mercilessly - the howl of a damned soul. I cast one final look over the mountaintops as I readied myself. Across the golden-pink-clad grace of the sky in the climax of its nigh-on sorrowful sunset, and finally, to the bottom of the great beast. No sound escaped me, my chest still.
Silence forebode upon me. And I let go.
Timeless. A feeling of eternities held within seconds. The world relinquished the rules of its being. My presence suspended in unfathomable bliss. But soon, the mountain rushed, with the honed speed of a leopard in full sprint, the sound of its quickening black heart resounding around me. And with it whistled the sudden uproar of excruciatingly frozen air. It pulled at me, clawed at me, hands from the deep reaching up for their bounty. Projectiles of untamed snow raged at me with the savagery of the Gatling gun. And as my numb body plummeted through space, my ravaged eyes caught a final picture of the mountains, no-
A great forest. The greatest of all. Splendid and serene. Touched by the edge of an unspoilt blue sky in the marvel of a midday sun. The leaves rustled contentedly in the cool breeze, the knot-holed trunks creaked mischievously, as to that of an old man, gently rocking back and forth in his chair, an amused chuckle escaping him. And as the sunray-touched canopy of fiery colours of gold, red, and orange, awaited me; I allowed myself one final glance at the great beast.
And I felt peace ripple over me, as I took in a final, grand image of a young woman, with nose and eyes curiously familiar to that of my own, smiling down on me from beyond the great canopy. Her beautiful face filled my mind’s-eye, as I sniffed gently. Taking in a rich, wonderful smell of summer flowers, as thus, I slipped, unquestioned, into the eternal midst, of the forests’ timeless splendour.
Beautifully written. You captured the whole epic serenity with some wonderful descriptions. I impressed.
Stryke wrote:
> I read them all, but what do you want me to say? Good? Yep, it's good,
> enjoyed reading it - but I hardly ever have any idea about what to say
> to any of the good writers on here. It's easier to tell Cool Boy/Cross
> Bob to learn to spell and/or stop writing pleasepleaseplease than to
> tell you/Meka/Glove etc what I liked about your work. I can just say
> I liked it, but without anything constructive. Sorry.
Look I'm trying to improve I say your stories are good because they are great, and are some of the best reads on here. But please stop being horrible about my stuff.
> I read them all, but what do you want me to say? Good? Yep, it's good,
> enjoyed reading it - but I hardly ever have any idea about what to say
> to any of the good writers on here. It's easier to tell Cool Boy/Cross
> Bob to learn to spell and/or stop writing pleasepleaseplease than to
> tell you/Meka/Glove etc what I liked about your work. I can just say
> I liked it, but without anything constructive. Sorry.
Look I'm trying to improve I say your stories are good because they are great, and are some of the best reads on here. But please stop being horrible about my stuff.
Nah, that's fine.
It's just good to know if what you're writing is good/bad. Not expecting a full-blown review of it or anything.
Thanks anyway.
It's just good to know if what you're writing is good/bad. Not expecting a full-blown review of it or anything.
Thanks anyway.
I read them all, but what do you want me to say? Good? Yep, it's good, enjoyed reading it - but I hardly ever have any idea about what to say to any of the good writers on here. It's easier to tell Cool Boy/Cross Bob to learn to spell and/or stop writing pleasepleaseplease than to tell you/Meka/Glove etc what I liked about your work. I can just say I liked it, but without anything constructive. Sorry.
Yeah nobody else has read this. I've read all of them so far.
It's fairly difficult to improve as a writer, if nobody actually comments on your work. Just a thought...
Wow,excellent I think your in for a win.
It was a form of pain such as I had never experienced before. Not to be mistaken for physical distress, but more an overwhelming sense of fatigue. Enraged by the pounding cold that swept over me. Yet so long as this world stood before me, no pain was too great. ‘Twas a world that brought flutters to my hastily beating heart. The snow-capped summits belonging to the great families of mountains, roaming the ravaged splendour of the landscape. The sky, stroked with ripples of pink and gold, painted by the very greatest of artists, yet with all the innocent subtlety of a child’s picture book.
Harsh reality, and unrivalled beauty all at the same time. All my life I had dreamed for this - this moment in time. Yet can you ever appreciate something to its most deserved? Could you even begin to comprehend the majesty that surrounds you? You try, oh yes. But it is like staring from beyond a misted window. For it is all there, mapped out before you – the top of the world, yet it is not there. How could such splendour exist upon our mortal-coil? Such is the raw power that resides within the great hallways of rock, that you simply cannot bequeath it the full inspiration that you feel. You wrestle with the notion as you gaze out across the canopy of terrifying majesty, hound yourself to perceive its very being. Strive for the realisation, but you simply cannot.
Not such a terrible thing, I recall thinking.
As I stood there, powerful wraiths of wind rushing to greet me, I felt as if each and every bone, muscle, hair – everything, complimented my new-found sense of exhaustion; aching to a near unbearable degree. This mountain, this lord and master, reigning supreme over all things, had come so close to prematurely claiming me as its own. With each howl of fury that carried upon its wind, I had felt another shard of myself slowly, yet unquestionably, splintering away. The sheer black rock of the mountain face appeared to whisper maliciously to me, filling me with doubt, struggling to convince me of inevitability: that I could never win. That I would concede in shame like the others. The ones before me whom the great beast had claimed.
Unseen heathens, summoned by the beast, tearing and scratching at my hands, foreboding upon me, attempting to pry my numb hands away from their rock. I prayed to the point of deranged misery that I should find strength. The higher will to carry on. I cannot begin to tell you how many times I felt the darkness close in upon my vision. Striving to plunge me into that pit of despair, followed by nothing at all. No pain. No desperation. I came close to accepting the mountain’s offer. To end it right there. But with each time I felt my eyes ease shut, as if readying for a long sleep, I felt her smell flicker through into me - a rich, wonderful smell of summer flowers. And with it her voice, crying out for me to keep going. A voice that the great mountain had once silenced.
At times, I felt myself slipping ever closer to madness, clinging onto the mountain’s bosom, and yet there I now stood. Garments ravaged by the beast’s hatred for me. My conscious mind having tendered the idea of giving way to it. But there I stood. Staring out over the great forest of mountains, toying with the idea of their forestation counterparts. I felt a weak, barely distinguishable smile creep onto my face, as I let the thought humour me, that that there smaller (so to speak) assembly of great rock, resembles the gentler majesty of the old apple-tree; a kinder, more tender approach to mountain-hood. Or the tall, slender summit the hundreds of miles east, a distance that I make in nary a second. Surely that must compare favourably to the delicacy of a silver birch. Meek and shy, distancing itself from the overwhelming ferocity of the giants. They in themselves the kindred of the grand masters of the forest. Towering conifers, mighty oaks (representatives of the unrelenting, well-built monoliths).
Before my eyes, my imagination had fired a great forest before me. Inducing memories of my young self, running merrily, weaving in and out of the forests of home, a trickle of tears now ensuing quietly. Yet surely those forests do pale in comparison to what stands at my feet. A wonderful canopy of momentous splendour. The greatest of all forests. Overhung by an unspoilt, crystal-clear ocean of blue skies. In my ears, I overhear the screech of eagles, akin to that of a sorrowful cry of the mountain wind. And I felt myself slipping further into my own, special world. Never wanting to let it go.
Yet still there lingered a mysterious thought. A lone whisper within my head. What mountain-tree should I stand upon? What does tower above all else? What has me? And it was then - the moment when the great canopy of trees collapsed before me, and once more upon their place stood the cold, rugged, canopy of snow-peaked mountaintops – that the realisation, one that I had unwillingly regarded all along, hit me with the scream of snowbound wind.
Still the great mountain craved more. It moaned with the serenade of the lone piper atop the hills. Never would it be satisfied with my mere standing atop it. ‘Twas as if I had cradled the idol that my ancestor and I had coveted for so, so long - an idol that had haunted me in sleeping and waking hours - only for it to fade away in my hands. To run away between my fingers true to sand in the cold wind of the mountain. Still I hand one last task to fulfil.
Whilst I lingered, my leg arched slightly on a small outcrop of rock, I felt the shadows creep ever so gradually across my face. In the distance, seemingly the only presence that could conquer the wrath of the mountain forest, the modest, rose-tinged sun eased itself ever-downwards towards the sea of the mountaintops. It carried with it humility, itself preparing for a decline through the canopy of peaks. My eyes followed it, as it lowered further, whispers carrying upon the wind. Still the shadows grew across my face. Unwavering, admirably steady, hinting at the time about to follow. Not a wisp of doubt encroaching upon mind. The time was now.
As I moved with the passage of a spirit to the brink of the summit’s edge, the ice of the wind howled throughout my surroundings, complimenting the now soulless world of the black rock, touched with a cap of pristine white snow. It urged me further, impatiently, mercilessly - the howl of a damned soul. I cast one final look over the mountaintops as I readied myself. Across the golden-pink-clad grace of the sky in the climax of its nigh-on sorrowful sunset, and finally, to the bottom of the great beast. No sound escaped me, my chest still.
Silence forebode upon me. And I let go.
Timeless. A feeling of eternities held within seconds. The world relinquished the rules of its being. My presence suspended in unfathomable bliss. But soon, the mountain rushed, with the honed speed of a leopard in full sprint, the sound of its quickening black heart resounding around me. And with it whistled the sudden uproar of excruciatingly frozen air. It pulled at me, clawed at me, hands from the deep reaching up for their bounty. Projectiles of untamed snow raged at me with the savagery of the Gatling gun. And as my numb body plummeted through space, my ravaged eyes caught a final picture of the mountains, no-
A great forest. The greatest of all. Splendid and serene. Touched by the edge of an unspoilt blue sky in the marvel of a midday sun. The leaves rustled contentedly in the cool breeze, the knot-holed trunks creaked mischievously, as to that of an old man, gently rocking back and forth in his chair, an amused chuckle escaping him. And as the sunray-touched canopy of fiery colours of gold, red, and orange, awaited me; I allowed myself one final glance at the great beast.
And I felt peace ripple over me, as I took in a final, grand image of a young woman, with nose and eyes curiously familiar to that of my own, smiling down on me from beyond the great canopy. Her beautiful face filled my mind’s-eye, as I sniffed gently. Taking in a rich, wonderful smell of summer flowers, as thus, I slipped, unquestioned, into the eternal midst, of the forests’ timeless splendour.
Harsh reality, and unrivalled beauty all at the same time. All my life I had dreamed for this - this moment in time. Yet can you ever appreciate something to its most deserved? Could you even begin to comprehend the majesty that surrounds you? You try, oh yes. But it is like staring from beyond a misted window. For it is all there, mapped out before you – the top of the world, yet it is not there. How could such splendour exist upon our mortal-coil? Such is the raw power that resides within the great hallways of rock, that you simply cannot bequeath it the full inspiration that you feel. You wrestle with the notion as you gaze out across the canopy of terrifying majesty, hound yourself to perceive its very being. Strive for the realisation, but you simply cannot.
Not such a terrible thing, I recall thinking.
As I stood there, powerful wraiths of wind rushing to greet me, I felt as if each and every bone, muscle, hair – everything, complimented my new-found sense of exhaustion; aching to a near unbearable degree. This mountain, this lord and master, reigning supreme over all things, had come so close to prematurely claiming me as its own. With each howl of fury that carried upon its wind, I had felt another shard of myself slowly, yet unquestionably, splintering away. The sheer black rock of the mountain face appeared to whisper maliciously to me, filling me with doubt, struggling to convince me of inevitability: that I could never win. That I would concede in shame like the others. The ones before me whom the great beast had claimed.
Unseen heathens, summoned by the beast, tearing and scratching at my hands, foreboding upon me, attempting to pry my numb hands away from their rock. I prayed to the point of deranged misery that I should find strength. The higher will to carry on. I cannot begin to tell you how many times I felt the darkness close in upon my vision. Striving to plunge me into that pit of despair, followed by nothing at all. No pain. No desperation. I came close to accepting the mountain’s offer. To end it right there. But with each time I felt my eyes ease shut, as if readying for a long sleep, I felt her smell flicker through into me - a rich, wonderful smell of summer flowers. And with it her voice, crying out for me to keep going. A voice that the great mountain had once silenced.
At times, I felt myself slipping ever closer to madness, clinging onto the mountain’s bosom, and yet there I now stood. Garments ravaged by the beast’s hatred for me. My conscious mind having tendered the idea of giving way to it. But there I stood. Staring out over the great forest of mountains, toying with the idea of their forestation counterparts. I felt a weak, barely distinguishable smile creep onto my face, as I let the thought humour me, that that there smaller (so to speak) assembly of great rock, resembles the gentler majesty of the old apple-tree; a kinder, more tender approach to mountain-hood. Or the tall, slender summit the hundreds of miles east, a distance that I make in nary a second. Surely that must compare favourably to the delicacy of a silver birch. Meek and shy, distancing itself from the overwhelming ferocity of the giants. They in themselves the kindred of the grand masters of the forest. Towering conifers, mighty oaks (representatives of the unrelenting, well-built monoliths).
Before my eyes, my imagination had fired a great forest before me. Inducing memories of my young self, running merrily, weaving in and out of the forests of home, a trickle of tears now ensuing quietly. Yet surely those forests do pale in comparison to what stands at my feet. A wonderful canopy of momentous splendour. The greatest of all forests. Overhung by an unspoilt, crystal-clear ocean of blue skies. In my ears, I overhear the screech of eagles, akin to that of a sorrowful cry of the mountain wind. And I felt myself slipping further into my own, special world. Never wanting to let it go.
Yet still there lingered a mysterious thought. A lone whisper within my head. What mountain-tree should I stand upon? What does tower above all else? What has me? And it was then - the moment when the great canopy of trees collapsed before me, and once more upon their place stood the cold, rugged, canopy of snow-peaked mountaintops – that the realisation, one that I had unwillingly regarded all along, hit me with the scream of snowbound wind.
Still the great mountain craved more. It moaned with the serenade of the lone piper atop the hills. Never would it be satisfied with my mere standing atop it. ‘Twas as if I had cradled the idol that my ancestor and I had coveted for so, so long - an idol that had haunted me in sleeping and waking hours - only for it to fade away in my hands. To run away between my fingers true to sand in the cold wind of the mountain. Still I hand one last task to fulfil.
Whilst I lingered, my leg arched slightly on a small outcrop of rock, I felt the shadows creep ever so gradually across my face. In the distance, seemingly the only presence that could conquer the wrath of the mountain forest, the modest, rose-tinged sun eased itself ever-downwards towards the sea of the mountaintops. It carried with it humility, itself preparing for a decline through the canopy of peaks. My eyes followed it, as it lowered further, whispers carrying upon the wind. Still the shadows grew across my face. Unwavering, admirably steady, hinting at the time about to follow. Not a wisp of doubt encroaching upon mind. The time was now.
As I moved with the passage of a spirit to the brink of the summit’s edge, the ice of the wind howled throughout my surroundings, complimenting the now soulless world of the black rock, touched with a cap of pristine white snow. It urged me further, impatiently, mercilessly - the howl of a damned soul. I cast one final look over the mountaintops as I readied myself. Across the golden-pink-clad grace of the sky in the climax of its nigh-on sorrowful sunset, and finally, to the bottom of the great beast. No sound escaped me, my chest still.
Silence forebode upon me. And I let go.
Timeless. A feeling of eternities held within seconds. The world relinquished the rules of its being. My presence suspended in unfathomable bliss. But soon, the mountain rushed, with the honed speed of a leopard in full sprint, the sound of its quickening black heart resounding around me. And with it whistled the sudden uproar of excruciatingly frozen air. It pulled at me, clawed at me, hands from the deep reaching up for their bounty. Projectiles of untamed snow raged at me with the savagery of the Gatling gun. And as my numb body plummeted through space, my ravaged eyes caught a final picture of the mountains, no-
A great forest. The greatest of all. Splendid and serene. Touched by the edge of an unspoilt blue sky in the marvel of a midday sun. The leaves rustled contentedly in the cool breeze, the knot-holed trunks creaked mischievously, as to that of an old man, gently rocking back and forth in his chair, an amused chuckle escaping him. And as the sunray-touched canopy of fiery colours of gold, red, and orange, awaited me; I allowed myself one final glance at the great beast.
And I felt peace ripple over me, as I took in a final, grand image of a young woman, with nose and eyes curiously familiar to that of my own, smiling down on me from beyond the great canopy. Her beautiful face filled my mind’s-eye, as I sniffed gently. Taking in a rich, wonderful smell of summer flowers, as thus, I slipped, unquestioned, into the eternal midst, of the forests’ timeless splendour.