the sky's transparency turns to rain, which isn't much trouble. a
whittled down mountain like Everest (all legend, no action) stands three
feet above your imagination: not much. so you see, rise and let the
climbing begin. you see snow as a plaintive need to cower. you see air
as a fabulous instigation, like you could arrive at party on fire. you
can, try it. and as you try fire, day fades to night. well that it
should. it is a winter covering, a respect of earth. we can take such a
thing as a request to see death. death hits its mark atop Everest. see
the lunar loss, the vision of chill, the statues made of people. feel
definite, finally. death is a shaky town in a whirled ocean of feeling.
people strand themselves then yell for glory. a rumble above is merely
an avalanche. avalanches just make human call a number one. a few
moments, say, beneath white blanket will startle you but it is just a
mountain, just death, just a blue sky sometimes burnt into the world
above. or rain, as this day knows. we may sleep later or run around a
large rock. we may incline towards love because it is there. the sky's
transparency is as grey as dictates. the rain feels fine and finely
tuned. morning becomes eccentric.
- summit meeting Allen Bramhall
- Re: summit meeting rzep