blyslv wrote:what was better, skiing or sex
they are both three letter words that begin with s, they both are more thrilling with the right lubrication, they both make your heart pound, and sweat, both are more fun with a good partner, but if you have to pay for it, ski lift tickets are cheaper.
the mountain seemed impossibly high.
Far too prominent, far too tall, far too full of dangerous crags, and voluminous depths.
It's very presence seemed to negate mine.
The darkness that was hidden between the peaks of light, seemed to be an area worth exploring. Ones where I might be able to shine a little of the light that reflected off of me. But would i be able to climb out afterward? Didn't matter. I wanted to be there anyways, on the mountain, riding pieces of snow covered granite, where a bed of down rode hard hips. Like the hip of a rose, riding the petals of a flower...
like noon rides dawn.
I always loved the mountain. It's flashes, it's standing up
when wind, rain, brutal temperatures
roots and birds
the light and the shadows
the freedom and the perspectives of those who sought to see it and the heat of a thousand years conspired to wear it down.
I started out at the bottom. Asked people, do you know a way to the top? Found i did not know, could not learn
the way, but embarked nonetheless.
Sometimes found there was no way of gauging. No way of knowing where i might end up. No way of seeing the path, no way of knowing the distance. Or the destination. The journey underfoot would have to be enough.
To my surprise i found myself at the top, where i felt very alone.
Could i ride gravity's sweet curves down to the common land? Could i harness that which had passed beneath my feet to flow beneath my legs? To carry me forward, as it sought to bring me down?
I started with a gasp. Not the kind of gasp from one who's been underwater for too long, but the gasp of one who's just felt the taste of freedom, the gasp of a shocked tongue, the gasp of a person who realizes there are others like me.
The speed rushed at me, seeking to consume me. Trying to find that combination of fullness and anxiety that caused the fruit to fall from the tree.
I kept my eye on the fruit. It was the only thing that could carry me. Ripe, fallen, eaten, bearing, it was all of me.
The whiteness seemed blinding, without perspective. I felt it more than knew it. Had to trust it as it wrapped its arms around my eyes and took away my landmarks. I cried out. More was all i could know. The landscape surprised me, revealing hidden curves, pushing up when i didn't expect it, flying free beneath me as i rode it too hard.
I missed that connection. Would it come back with a bounce, a kiss, or a slow grind into the snow? I could not know.
A stumble, a forgiving humble, then i was on again. Sweetly in a groove, oh yes, it was good here. I felt the heat build up as i rode the slope. Felt the clarity of purpose... as my mind sought to accomodate the hill. Missed the whiteness, when there was only surprise, but headed towards the end surmised.
Would i ride the sweet track, would i twist around another tack, could any path get me back?
I came out from under tree, to a meadow far as sea. Stood and looked around "who me"? Sped across to heavenly. Felt the gasp, once more, once more, leapt into air a frozen blur,
smashed into ground like waves ashore.
As the earth smoothed out my limbs, and the wet dried up like winds, I turned and looked upon the sun, casting shadows and having fun.