Wednesday, February 17, 2010


The shadowy mountains loom.

To my left they shoot up and disappear into a thick blanket of clouds.

I am stopped at a sign that assures me that if I turn left, I'll find solitude.

Solitude is what I need.

The world's fist is inside my chest squeezing, wringing, compressing.

Left and Up into the canyon.

Cliffs close in on either side and disappear into the dense cloud layer as I wind my way towards solitude.

The mountains and the pines have a mass in space and time.

Their permanence in both highlights the transience of my existence.

Snowflakes gently drift around me, hardly seeming to move. Gravity itself seeming to take a moment to stop and admire their beauty.

My worries are ephemeral.

Climbing, turning, winding.

Gravity remembers itself and silently tears feathers of snow from the clouds.

I pause to sit on an embankment in the snow looking out over a shallow pond.

The feathers of snow become chunks. The clouds themselves descend, shrouding everything.

I've found solitude; an expanse of silent drifting white.

No comments:

Post a Comment