Phantoms engulf my very soul,
Eldritch fog that twists, twines and wreaths the creeping, crouching boulders
possessed by the wind I become part of this eerie tableaux
And the mountain is I.
Reluctant feet walk me away from the heartland of the summit
The fog spirits follow,
Hissing and Swirling,
until the mighty sun brandishes his great spear
And they are banished back to their cage.
The phantoms, wind and fog leaves me empty.
The elegant greens, browns and blue flowers that embroider the forest carpet and frame the flowing water that cascades, free as unbound hair confirms only to mortal strictures, expectations of beauty
The summit calls