Perhaps Not the Mountain

Perhaps not the Mountain - Perhaps even not the lone hermit, atop said mountain... sitting as still as tea leaves, left in their jar. Perhaps not the Mountain. So unneedful of needs. Of deeds. Now moving as imperceptibly, as slowly, as wakefully as the ‘still’ tea leaves, damp on the saucer; unfolding like mornings in morning’s new light. Perhaps not the Mountain. So unmindful of mind. Of mankind. Perhaps not the birds, resting in nooks in rookeries by snow lines and greenlines. Perhaps not the lizard or sheep, one sharp-edged like the low-edges of shiftrock, the other white-topped like lost-edge of the hightop. Perhaps not the leopard, rare as the swear from the hermit; still stretching... out her morning. Perhaps none know the mountain is a slow wave of Earth. A Slow Wave come crashing so slowly into shallower Earth. A great primeval upheaval.