The highest peak scraping the silky sky, hat of clouds tilted to the side, gazing at the vastness of the Earth, drawing adventurers with soft whispers of eternal glory, promising to keep their names engraved in its rock that’s as old as time. Like a lonely mermaid, undisturbed and ever longing for companionship, it sings its song and blows it in the winds, calling out for the brave and the fearless, taunting them with its head poking above the blanket of clouds, alluring them with the glimmer of the untouched, fresh snow, pointing the way towards its most sacred and coveted place. Who can know your secrets, everything you keep quiet and everything that you burry? With a gentle blow, your winds erase the very memory of footsteps on your rocky skin. Your icy embrace, a sweet deception, caressing the last breath out of passing lovers that come looking for you. You, a greedy giant who knows the secrets of life and death; a collector of souvenirs, cruel and merciless, unreliable and wild, unstoppable and untamable. You, the eternal librarian, quietly scribbling names in your book of life. A master of time you are, peacefully counting ages upon ages. What was it like in the beginning? What wonders hid under your growing shadow? Your eyes, like watchtowers observed the birth of life. Did your winds carry the echo of God’s words when he pulled you out of the seas and saw that ‘it was good’ ? Did it tickle when the first fearful steps touched you? Your song is ever changing, sometimes loud as thunder and sometimes soft like a gentle breeze blowing through the grass. And there you remain, head held high, wrinkled face beaten by the winds. The truest of all witnesses and the footstool of God.

The highest peak scraping the silky sky, hat of clouds tilted to the side, gazing at the vastness of the Earth, drawing adventurers with soft whispers of eternal glory, promising to keep their names engraved in its rock that’s as old as time.
Like a lonely mermaid, undisturbed and ever longing for companionship, it sings its song and blows it in the winds, calling out for the brave and the fearless, taunting them with its head poking above the blanket of clouds, alluring them with the glimmer of the untouched, fresh snow, pointing the way towards its most sacred and coveted place.
Who can know your secrets, everything you keep quiet and everything that you burry? With a gentle blow, your winds erase the very memory of footsteps on your rocky skin. Your icy embrace, a sweet deception, caressing the last breath out of passing lovers that come looking for you. You, a greedy giant who knows the secrets of life and death; a collector of souvenirs, cruel and merciless, unreliable and wild, unstoppable and untamable. You, the eternal librarian, quietly scribbling names in your book of life.
A master of time you are, peacefully counting ages upon ages. What was it like in the beginning? What wonders hid under your growing shadow? Your eyes, like watchtowers observed the birth of life. Did your winds carry the echo of God’s words when he pulled you out of the seas and saw that ‘it was good’? Did it tickle when the first fearful steps touched you?
Your song is ever changing, sometimes loud as thunder and sometimes soft like a gentle breeze blowing through the grass.
And there you remain, head held high, wrinkled face beaten by the winds. The truest of all witnesses and the footstool of God.

Written by Jake Boncutiu