Mountain Rain

Up here, the rain might not end. The mountains yank it down.

Leaves, thistles, and remnants of yarrow, who only months ago relinquished their hold on the land, now find themselves pummeled into a wet carpet.

You walk cautiously.

You think of snow.

A crazy thought but a real one, envisioning light flakes floating down, forming a subtle comfort, evenly spread.

It’s not a surprising thought, for all you see across the surface of the lake is rain…a driving rain, moving horizontally…as if it’s a mad ghost, curling up the mountains, whipping trees, challenging their stoicism, lifting you off your feet, slightly, with every surge.

It’s that small perceptible feeling of not being grounded that moves your imagination into other thoughts.

It envisions a fall, down the side of the mountains, the rain having swept you off your feet. Your stomach turns. Here, alone, you become afraid and when you see your fear, you laugh. A laugh different than the laughter you’re known for.

You walk cautiously.

You want to get angry

Angry back at the rain, for pulling you away…apart…unsettling your warmth down to a shiver. 

You walk cautiously and look down while the rain hits the back of your coat’s hood.

The old leaves beneath your feet shimmer and you see your feet are planted firmly on the ground.

 

 

 

 

25 Comments on “Mountain Rain

  1. Brilliant! Thanks Elan! I’m fortunate to have climbed St Helens, that’s a great mountain (though all of them are, in my book). Thanks for this…

    Like

  2. The photo is exquisite! Where from, please? Reminds me of our terrain in the states, Pacific Northwest, possibly Alaska. Nice vibe with the words of course, too…thanks Elan for sharing.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. So cut through the heart, cold and clear strike for love and strike for fear
    See the beauty, sharp and sheer split the ice apart and break the frozen heart

    Like

  4. You have spoken of my home during the fall. I have lived your words. Well delivered Art my friend; I enjoyed. I wish I could write like you, my brain has been stuck in a weird place, and whatever I write, I no longer condone. Thanks, as always, for sharing. I’m sorry I do not comment more often.

    Liked by 3 people

  5. Shoes,
    smelling of peat
    that swallowed my feet

    (like a children’s game,
    skipping the banks of a river)

    as rain unstitches every wall
    between freezing toes
    and the illusion of castles.

    New layers over every pieces of pavement,
    every slab of rock
    and a bus I’m only half grateful for…

    knowing some part of my feet will always belong here.

    Liked by 3 people

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