Imagine you are a mountain. Are you a giant, like Denali, or a smaller mountain, like Mt. Philo? Are there many hikers on your trails, or are you an unexplored mountain? Write about your life as a mountain. [Photo by Crescent_Moon, YWP]
Mountain I sit in silence, the delicate breeze occasionally breaking the thin tranquility. I see no people, only the occasional fleet of squawking birds overhead, or a watchful hare sitting on my high fells. All I see is the everlasting snow peaks in the distance, and the rich green blur of pine. There’s no deAmelia Machanicnying that the quiet is peaceful, yet sometimes, as I sit amongst the mist, I wonder if anything lies beyond my tall summit of nothingness. I ponder that thought for a while, but when the blazing sun rises from her golden slumbers, I can only sit and watch the beauty of the morning. And, though it may not be grand, I find great comfort in the serene hills I belong to, and wouldn’t trade my slopes for anything.
Once there was a Mountain that had not been discovered by mankind. This mountain was at peace. The animals were so different from anything anyone had ever seen before. There were dragons that kept the mountain safe from intruders and at the top of the mountain lived mother nature. She kept the world at peace.
A boy that lived in a village had a poor family and needed some money so he had a plan. He had heard of a myth about a mountain. It was said to have gems that were worth trillions of dollars. Unfortunately, he didn't realize that they were mother nature's gems and he would pay a price for stealing them.
He started his journey and the myth said that it was as far as the arrow on the compass would go. He traveled through jungles and almost got robbed by monkeys. Oceans, where he was almost swallowed by a shark. In another village he was able to get some supplies and some rest. Then he found it, the Mountain.
Days seem to be stretched out as a mountain, nights where the winter breeze takes over and frost gently laying on every blade of grass for miles. Snow slowly dances down covering the leaves on our evergreens and muting out the green hues of the scrubs. Even throughout the summer, our mountain tops are still frigid and unforgiving for some visitors.
Maybe this is why no one ever visits us anymore. Our land isn't as harsh as our weather though. During the springs, our base is blooming with vivid blossoms and leaves. The same cannot be said to our tops and cliffs, as they are binded with snow and ice for every crack and crevice of our landscape. But if you look hard enough, you might see a lonely flower, scrub, or sprout peeking from the thick snow. A balance to keep on everything, even with the lifeless ice and snow that lives upon our lands, there will always be that single flower that rests peacefully waiting to bloom in spring.
Oh, why must my bitter cold soul devour my box of warmth, my murderous, snow-white hair pointing north? The hikers that dare set foot on my icy ridges, they shall burn you like scolding, lava-like bridges. The cold attacks every crevice you leave open. I shall rob you of your golden oxygen and I shall turn you broken. Standing ever so still, your limbs shall freeze. My heartlessness is a common and deadly disease, but I do have my days full of kindness and fun. At times I will allow my fellow hikers to be scorched by the sun, but please don't be foolish and cause a disruption or you shall be forcefully tortured and end in destruction. I've been around for about sixty million years. I watch the lives of nature painfully disappear. I speak for every mountain and I shall say be careful of what you touch, think of the price you are willing to pay.
I reach for the sky Up so high Near the clouds Where the birds glide and the planes fly I stretch from coast to coast North, East, South, West Covered in trees, rocks, animals I'm home to many My trails are well known At night I reach for the stars Near the moon Where the owls and bats fly Up so high
The cold morning air hugged my damp skin. All you could hear were heavy footsteps, our heavy breathing, and the sounds of the mountain. Light started to filter through the canopy of thick green leaves. There was no one but us, just the way we liked it. It was different, the feeling of being utterly alone in nature. Surrounded by the breathing trees, and the awakening ground. We walked through streams, climbed over rocks, and tripped over roots. We bantered in quite hushed voices, not wanting to break the peace. That was the hike that I got my trail name, pequeño pollo, which translated to little chicken. I was scared of everything, the rustling of trees, the big rocks we had to climb, even the little snake we met on our way up. It was nice though because it was never just us in the past. But now it was, and I liked it. As we got closer to the top the trees fell away. We became very much exposed to the harsh winds and beating sun.
If I were a mountain I would want to be a big bold mountain, filled with many tourists. I would watch everyone hike up me. I would smile when people reach the top and are impressed with themselves. I would laugh at people when they fell. Just kidding, but it would be weird when people fell. Maybe I would offer them some help, with a tree branch or something to help them get up. If I were a mountain it would be more than a mountain. A meeting spot for friends, a place for exercise. It would be a place where memories got made. My mountain would be a serene location. My mountain would be so big that some parts of it would be unexplored, some parts would be buzzing with people. There would always be something happening, somewhere on the mountain. I would be a mountain in a tropical location on an island. On my mountain there would be different places with rocks that you could jump off into the water. There would be picnic tables for families to gather and to stop and eat lunch.
Sitting in a hamock on my lawn looking at our beautiful mountains. They make me so happy. In the Fall there so many diffrent colors. So pretty they make me feel so happy that I live here in these green mountains
I am a mountain; glorious and strong. I am strong, and stable. When the wind comes blowing, I can hold my own. I may not be the tallest mountain in the mountain range, but I can still make an audible avalanche occur. I am not just a fledgling anymore, I can take care of myself. Everyday, I get many hikers on my beautiful trails. On the outside I may look as strong as a giant, but on the inside, I’m as delicate as a feather; soft, and light. When you see my mountain, it may seem like a daunting task to climb me, with twists, turns, and surprises around every corner, but I can guarantee it’s worth the effort to figure me out. For when you get to my peak, you will see a delightful, serene view. Even though lots of hikers climb me everyday, many people don’t know about me. It’s almost like I’m a diamond in the rough, that only a select few know about. I wish more knew about me so that I could spread the joy of getting to my peak to everyone. Somedays I feel sad, and lonely.