on the 110, listening to regina spektor

For a minute there the world seemed so robust and glorious. Sure, there were some craggy rocks here and there, but I was a mountain climber. I had shiny gear from REI and an awesome co-climber, and the sun was shining, but not in a way that provoked sweating.

I am mostly still there, climbing the big, gorgeous mountain. But sometimes, while you’re scampering upwards, feeling all muscular and happy and mountain goaty, you see a tiny little avalanche in your peripheral vision. Something tumbles into infinity—you don’t even hear it land. But you realize: Yes, right, the world is fragile.