I suppose it starts with me.  
A transcendent moment.
A flitting pass of energy. 
Called. 
I was to flee the heights of teetering dark mounds.

I hear you ore. Your explicit tones of zephyr hurtling past my ears.
I am coming.

An inception of feet, an endeavour to climb, all filled with bustle of kindred folk. 
Laces to tie.
Backpacks set.
Ailment a-ready.

I feel you. The pull.

The quick dash past the bustle of bodies excites me even more. I can see you. Each step one after another, after another, after another doesn’t feel like the slog some may find. Each step one after another, after another, after another charged with energy letting the mundanities of the slabs drift from every cell of my body; making room for new vibrancy to pierce through my dwindled veins.

I feel you. The invigoration.

The ease of the grass is gentle, like it’s truly content with being, twisting with the chatter of wind. The air is vigorous as I take deep breathes inwards, it subdues tranquil to my skin, aware of my entity. 
To endure the path begins, stretched wide with no avail in sight. Each step crackles rubble and heavy pants of breathe with the inclining route, it is only subtle but you can feel it. A distant burn begins to fill me as the toil grows ever more to meet the first drop, it looks as though the path stops dead in its tracks, sheer faces that drop your ascent, but yet you’re met with a sight of wonders. 
I shift from hot to still, the air thin, crisp, water glistening proud.

Proud.
You are proud aren’t you.
To give thanks might sound strange, yet truly it’s deserved.
You rid fear, angst.
You enrich serenity, clarity.

I feel you. The drive.

 

Every twist followed by a turn engrosses new sights of marvel, the higher we escape the greener you become. Slight prattle from distant climbers starts to venture its way into the troughs of headland, surpassing the verdant peaks. A small stumble of footing leaves a crunch to hollow its way through the valleys. Who’d of thought you’d embrace each step with such vigour.

Do you feel as connected to me as I do you?

I see where the chatter began, the air becomes cool as brightness ensues, to elicit another great sight. Vast blues shimmer under your great peak, the meeting of your elixir to the hard crumbling cliff faces.  It’s blinding. 
I stop swift, tearing the backpack encasing all my sweet divinities right off, yeating my crusty boots over the top of my load followed by my, albeit slightly dampened, socks.
Run.
A sprint to the pool begins, stones crunching under quick feet followed by a brawl of water flying up my legs to enthral my sticky skin . There wasn’t a realisation of my heat until the meeting of my skin against the distinct sharpness of brisk tarns. I don’t need to go any further; I have reached my own peak. 

 

So I suppose it ends with me.
A transcendent moment.
A flitting pass of freedom,
maybe not so flitting at all.
Called to reach your peak
but finding my own.

The truest escapism,

you gave with nothing compared.
I felt you. The pull.
You called to my vanquish
and to that I might say, interconnected, interdependent, there’s nothing more I need.
My thanks to you mountain, for making me, me.