Balancing we trek
Across ancient dragon’s teeth
Waiting for his bite
"I'll never forget stepping onto the summit of Mount Everest, the world at my feet, reaching for God's hand."
"It was a small, Welsh hill and even then you got a nose bleed."
"That's not how I remember it and I've a photographic memory."
"Yeah, it's often negative and like the rest of you, it's underdeveloped."
"Pft! I can close my eyes and see everything, the sky, the snow, the man selling hot dogs."
"Blimey! You were there."
"Yup. Beautiful memories, John. Wonderful days."
"How did you get down?"
"I suppose that's because you're an eagle too."
"Nope. I desperately needed the toilet."
"Did you make it?"
"I'm ashamed to say not."
"Like I said, Wales all over again."
Something distant looms
Gazing beyond city lights
Monoliths to see
Obscured and dismissed
These lowly landscapes smothered
For we are above
The mountain called to me, and not in a good way. At first, I’d thought it gathering thunder its clouds hidden behind the massif. It wasn’t. A dying bear, falling rocks, world’s biggest belching squirrel, and any number of idiocies flittered through my brain as I approached the summit. The grunting, grating, growling sound overwhelmed me on that slow ascent to Hell, a total overpowering of tired senses, a vertigo inducing cacophony. Then, I was there, destination reached and all stood revealed.
Part girl, part something else, she sang her little heart out. She sang a wretched melody of she got there first, of she owned the mountain, of she was queen of the hill. And, in that moment, I knew I was never climbing down.
Above the clouds where seasons change by the minute, you tower.