mountain

A succinct report on the last three days of woodland frolicking… I caught nothing in my nets. Nothing with hooks, rifles, torpedoes, or grenades…

I lied like a snake on rocks, my eyes peeled toward sky, salamanders wriggling between my toes. I swallowed sunshine - vitamins for malnourished flesh.

Another syncopated birdsong, melodically bittersweet, revealed tales; "this world is yours too".

I climbed mountains to see what was on top, to feel that I was on top, and, when I got there I felt smaller than ever before.

And what did I learn from these mountains? And what do I fail to report? Everything and nothing. I cannot report its vastness; similar to a photo you can only capture nature in fragments; one quick handsome breath.

A few breaths: spiders crawling up my shirt; fire; the unintentional discovery of mosquito nests; my fear of falling off of the edge, then whirling down like pollen; taking the wrong path and finding it again hours later; absorbing my nakedness; gulping water from a cool stream; moss in my hair; algae on my knees; frigid waves lapping at my skin; devouring greasy potatoes; sleep on sharp uneven ground; dreams of armlessness; dreams of my former self; dreams of dreams once dreamt.