I’d like to climb a mountain. One whose skin is brimming with gentle mossy hair. I’d turn a dead root into a walking stick, and lean on it as I squint for a better view. I’d like for it to be a soft mountain. One with mellow inclines then sharper curves to compliment the lows. Valleys within valleys, the whole landscape would look like ripples on a cosmic shore. I’d pick blueberries on the way. As ascend I’d whistle like birdsong; the great height steadily making its impression. The smell of pine tar and wet wool would slowly fade away as I climb, and when I pass the tree-line, I’d give a prayer of gratitude before enjoying the berries. I'd like to climb a mountain, so much that you wouldn't believe me when I told you that the mountain climbs me. -eulogy2, the mountain.
08.03.2023.
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