The long range mountains rise dark and stark and lonely above the highway. The highway--winding, twisting, weaving like a snake--crawls blindly around the base of towering peaks. On a dark, rainy afternoon, the mountains are glowering ghosts. Fog, drifting upwards, casts a mysterious aura. I shiver as if immersed in a Gothic novel. What will happen next? Will the villain jump out with flowing cape and shimmering sword? Through dissipating fog, snow glistens, revealing fleeting glimpses of eternal winter atop ancient summits; snow that never melts. Sun, breaking through angry clouds, sends dazzling rays momentarily, before spitefully retiring for the day. Shadows, dark green and purple, shift and jump. Now black. Now still. Swallowing daylight in the blink of an eye. Up, up they rise. Mountains undaunted by darkness, rain, snow, or me. You remind me of those mountains; your grim granite exterior unyielding and solemn. Icy scorn--battling blatant desire--flits across a face of stone. Craggy hollows. Hidden Valleys. Undisguised resentments. Remote and inaccessible, you reign in self-made solitude. A mountain mired in mystery. An Island steeped in silence. A loner alone; a lover unloved. What will make you topple? |
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| Mountain/Man by Marlene McCarty |
| copyright 2000 Marlene McCarty |
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