Edges are one thing that I cannot get used to. It is the great expanse, the drop, the wide nothingness which causes my stomach to squeeze into a tight fist. This mountain, Roan Mountain, did not seem too high, but as we skirted along roads that became icy on our way up, the edges began to sharpen in razor clarity.
Down below the winding curves of slick pavement and crystal trees, the world was green and new buds began to flower. Not here, not this height. Not where your car dances between clouds and frozen branches. I wanted to return to the safe, the green.
But it captured me. The starkness of the clear, clear blue against speckled white caught the air from my lungs in awe and wonder. Who wanted to be stuck at the bottom in dull and muted evergreen when crisp, clean blue could catch your breath away?
But there is always an edge. There is always a border to how high we can reach. We could touch the clouds, but could we reach the sun? This edge was at Carver’s gap, closing off the top of the mountain until summer. Look, though, look. The expanse, the wideness of the sky stretching out like an endless sea. That is the place with no edges. If only we could keep going.
1 comment:
Very good pictures, very good commentary. Where was this mountain?
Post a Comment