I Went Up a Mountain
The climb began with the tyres spinning on the rocky mountain track, a challenge that only seemed to heighten the anticipation. As the car climbed higher and higher, the sky seemed to meet the land, as if the gods themselves were reaching down to brush against the earth. Ancient boulders, blanketed in moss, were the first to greet me, but they were soon joined by a lively herd of goats, some young, some seasoned with age, leaping over the car, weaving between cattle pens with the ease of creatures perfectly at home in this wild terrain. Among them, tiny billy goats played beside their mothers, their newness contrasting with the ancientness of the land.
The presence of First Nations ancestors was palpable. Even as thousands of years had passed, it felt as if they were still here, walking silently across the hills, observing, guiding and reminding me of the deep, sacred history beneath my feet. The dogs, protectors of the herd, were more than just guardians, they were like timeless companions, with a foot in both the present and the otherworld. Their watchful eyes mirrored the eternal skies above, where clouds danced, their shadows creating a living canvas on the earth below.
In that moment, time lost its meaning. The wind whispered stories from the past, carrying me with it, until suddenly it paused. The air became still, and then the rain came, soft at first, before the mist began to creep up the mountain, like the breath of dragons curling around the landscape.
It was as if the world was shifting, hiding from view, only to reveal itself once more when the mist passed. The mood changed - cooler, more introspective and I felt the warmth of a meal was needed, soul food to accompany the tales of the past shared as the rain fell. It became a time of renewal, of waiting for the skies to clear.
As night arrived, I was drawn into dreams, of loss, of potential, of magic that danced between desire and fear. But with morning came the brightness again. The skies cleared, the cool breeze returned, and it was time to walk the land, to reconnect. The trees, the fern gullies, they felt familiar, welcoming. The fig tree, ancient and crone-like, stood as a shelter, its presence wise and comforting. Among the trees, rays of sunlight pierced through, revealing the magic of the new fairies born from the ancient folk, their whispers carried on the breeze.
The stones, too, spoke ancient stories, their shadows casting faces upon the rocks, guiding me towards the path I was meant to take. Cut off from the modern world, I was connected to something much deeper, ancestors, nature, the very soul of the mountain. This place embraced me, taught me, and allowed me to simply be. As I said goodbye, I knew it was not farewell, but rather a promise: I will return. The mountain will be waiting for me, and I for it.
