I feel golden rays on my shoulders. It's good, warming my insides with a gentle
caress. Thank you sun, I think to
myself. I needed that after the harsh
winter. Snow makes me sad, covering me
with cold as it does. But I've learned each
season brings both good and bad. The bad
is coming now, I can feel it even as the sun, the good, coddles me.
The first one comes, I can feel his heartbeat as he climbs. Harsh
feet tramp along my sides, spikes digging into the soft flesh of my spring
offerings and buds. I can always hear
the harsh breath of those who wish to mount me as they strain to attain my peaks. They make me mad, these hikers, these stupid
trekkers, interested only in heights.
Never looking when uncaring boots stomp whatever grows across their
path.
My dearest friends, the little ones who emerge new and
shaking from their mothers' wombs, and stand, knees not yet straight and
strong, to wobble on my sides, nuzzle nearby teats and nibble at the succulent
grasses and herbs I provide for them. I
love them. They are proof of life and
they honor me by using me as their home.
My joy is watching them grow, gain their horns or learn to hunt in
stealth, limbs grow strong, climb my rocky
heights and mate to start anew the cycle of life. All watched with pride by me, their home, the
mountain.
But those hikers, the climbers, the ones who poke sharp
sticks into my flesh, drop careless fire in dry brush, they make me mad! I try my revenge on them, place rolling
stones in their paths, loose gravel that spills them down the track. But to no avail. They come, ubiquitous fancy clothing, hooks
and spikes and ropes meant solely to spoil and injure me. They come, endless in their processions of
conquest, packs flung over their backs holding supplies to aid in their
constant quest. Damn them!
In winter, they should go home to their fires and hearths on
the flatland. But no, they seek me
still, with different poles to guide them down my now silken curved ribbons of
ice and snow. Is there no respite? It seems mankind refuses to take a hint when
I sneeze, tumbling crests and moguls of snow and rocks to bury them as they
make their futile attempts to glide to safety.
They cut into my being to make their roads, perch their
villages on my flanks, dig into my core for stones only they value. They think they own me, can take what I
offer, hunt my friends who live on me in peace.
It saddens me to see how arrogant they are.
They don't understand. I am the mountain, and when I have had
enough of them, I belch and shiver as my wounded sides easily shake them
off, tumbling helpless to the hard arms
of the flatland below. It is my joke on humanity. In case they forgot. I am mountain. I. Am. Eternal.
No comments:
Post a Comment