Finding himself atop the high mountain
It was cold and barren.
The trees were none and the icy shell
Made for slippery steps.
On guard for danger,
He took a sudden leap,
And soaring downward
He flipped forward in full rotations
Loosing ultimate bearings,
He also lost count of the somersaults
Because he did not have
A starting point of reference
To mark the count.
To him, his world was blurred—
The images orbited in streaks
Through his stationary field of vision.
Finally touching ground,
He found himself near the middle of the slope—
Tumbling along with the mass of a heavenly body,
He eventually ground to a halt,
Not before sending fragments of dirt
And forest floor debris hurling into
The light air.
Regaining his vision, the Mountaineer
Could now focus clearly on infinitesimally minute details
In his new found setting—
The deer roamed freely—without fear,
Casually munching on leaves and bark.
Their quiet snorts and wet mouths
Calmly but actively moving
Were received by the onlooker
In seemingly amplified fidelity.
The fleas bouncing around
The bristly hide
Sent dull, yet penetrating
In retarded spherical emanations
Of crashing molecules
Battling for rest in their
As he gazed around the lush forest
With all the sweet aromas
Carried in the crisp and smooth air,
There was a silent sound
Tuned with exacting precision
Which had not an end nor a begining.
In light of this quiet energy,
The traveller took to building—
First, a Hut, then an Aqueduct,
And lastly a Basket.
The latter was finely woven
With nimble fingers
And still attention.
The materials were all
And were worked
The climber took
Here, in the middle
Of the slope