Wednesday, June 14, 2006

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.

5 comments:

Jamie said...

Nice prose poem.

Cheryl said...

Hmm, maybe it could pass as such. Thanks!

thelastnoel said...

I was gonna say the exact same thing! What a neat prose poem. That thing about the world being all "fragile" gave me goose bumps.

Tracy Lynn said...

Dude, this made me smile.

Cheryl said...

I'll have to write in my mountain goat persona more often.