To the Mountains

We left the hills driving north as  the sun fell into a distant river. The towns and cities we passed in the deepening dusk were lights on a string to our destination. Into the night the lights became fewer, the road steeper. We slept at a roadside stop on a curving, sloping highway, and when we awoke, the world was mist, the light suffuse. To the west a face of ragged rock green with mosses and ferns and glistening with the weeping of indiscernible springs climbed into the thinning fog; to the east marched mountains beyond mountains, their aspirations cloaked in a rich robe of emerald and malachite, turquoise and jade. There I stood on the edge of air and prayed for more gentle ways and a greater understanding.

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