Mountains

Would I could recall and savor the striking moment I came to know of mountains. Not lowland’s timid rolling hills, adorned with scant veneer of weeds, cement and green-grass lawns, but lofty pinnacles that scratch the sky with unyielding granite, against whose might the setting sun itself does daily yield— Its bluster damned in mute dismay. Yet there faintly linger, among the tangled ganglia of my mind, images and feelings… of summits gained, and all the world below, that I might behold unforgettable things, which mountains have no need to remember.