Mountain of snow against the darkening sky drifts from vision and becomes the lost peak of legend.
Mountain shadow swallows the valley, consuming trees and river, the last drops of light.
What secrets does the mountain take from the day into the night?
When the ravens fall silent, when the wind scatters, returning to its mysterious beginning, the mountain voice emerges from cracks and fissures, from the very earth that turns raw molten materials into the giants reaching to the heavens.
An ancient voice calls across time in the space we cannot hear, in the dreams we see when we reach beyond the death zone and what we think becomes irrelevant and what we desire spiritually, the things that have no name, become tangible, become the vision floating across the horizon.