ROCKY SILHOUETTES

I climbed a mountain.
A real one.
Not an emotional one.

At the top,
there were no trees.
Rough grasses and rocks.
Scurrying mammals and flowers
blooming as if spring.

The air is thin there.
But that is not why you gasp.
It’s the strangeness
of everything that surrounds you,
so far below
and beyond.

Everything looks a painting,
a photograph,
not real.
But it is.
It is not enough to take a picture.
It is not even enough to stare.

So I sat awhile,
at the top of the mountain.
And let my thoughts
chase the sailing the clouds,
the rocky silhouettes,
the valleys carved by rivers
and creeks.

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