Perspective

In the reverent morning we marched, through a quiet, lonely dawn that slowly arose to unveil soaring mountaintops, long emerald green pools falling into thundering waterfalls and deep, lost valleys. A soft azure sky scattered handfuls of wispy clouds across the horizon; perhaps we were trespassers, not in our valiant hearts or our innocent intent but in our determination to conquer, to raise the flag of our own glory above that which does not care, above stoic granite and proud, ancient bark. Who were we to dare to pit flesh against rock in what must seem a petulant tantrum to that which has weathered so many and will easily endure so many more? I climbed to conquer, I climbed to win, I climbed to defeat the undefeatable. And when finally I emerged scarred and torn with a fierce weariness, head held high to tread upon the windswept, barren rock and look down upon the graceful universe at my feet I see a stunning humility, I see that I have not conquered anything. For a brief moment I have been allowed to experience the world from this far-reaching gaze, to feel the high wind proud against my cheek, raise my arms and bathe in the tall, sapphire sky and rejoice in the knowledge that I am that small, the world around me is that agelessly beautiful, and that I am become larger in heart and in spirit than the reaches of my own intent. I share this wonder but for a moment, before I must step back down and leave this silent guardian to its lonely secrets gazing effortlessly into the velvet night sky.