These mountains are but a stand of trees to the man astride that horse; dark eyes are massive storm clouds or shadows cast by towering presence hidden in the folds of an otherwise ordinary brain. Power? There is no end to this man's power except the end that will always march shattering sheets of glass ice with hooves so hard they weather mountains.
Does he see it? The horse, whose everyday hooves ***** one film of ice among many, sees it; has a face - most expressive beast on earth - that speaks aloud against the cold that runs fingernails along the raw interior of her throat.
Yes, this man, like so many men, make choices, and choices have troubling consequences.
There is darkness in these mountains; because mountains stand taller than the common countryside. Sometimes, their height brings them closer to the sun. At midnight, their peaks are more distant than the depths of a gorge.
See the deeply set, tempered soul ensconced in that man's eyes?
The horse is very, very tired, and sees more than mountains, icicles, wisps of frozen cloud - she sees beyond these and beneath these, to a destination frozen shut in the folds of an otherwise ordinary brain. Power? The horse sighs and drips chilled mucus on snow. Her humanity she pours out and only a frozen peak can see.
*There are humans making choices always leading to the cold.
For the painting, see http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/9d/Paul_Delaroche_-_Napoleon_Crossing_the_Alps_-_Google_Art_Project_2.jpg