I miss walking
between the crags,
sitting high on the moraine
& feeling the rush of icy-wind
kissing me from the blue-crevasse.
I miss counting the stars
& being able to touch them,
hearing the rumbling sound
of an avalanche echo off
the big valley walls.
I miss the smell of sulphur
blowing up from
the depths
of a living-caldera
& the touch of penintentes
rising from the glacier,
evergreens in winter.
For in those moments,
you really feel alive
& it's not electronic,
it's real nature.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
I miss walking
between the crags,
sitting high on the moraine
& feeling the rush of icy-wind
kissing me from the blue-crevasse.
I miss counting the stars
& being able to touch them,
hearing the rumbling sound
of an avalanche echo off
the big valley walls.
I miss the smell of sulphur
blowing up from
the depths
of a living-caldera
& the touch of penintentes
rising from the glacier,
evergreens in winter.
For in those moments,
you really feel alive
& it's not electronic,
it's real nature.
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