Moody mountain

another mood, another storm rolls over the mountain spilling into our valley.

As moody as a woman, we expect nothing less as she retains her right to change her mind no matter what we say or do. At times we endure her passionate bursts, and other times her quiet soft touch. Full of surprises, we accept her temper and humor as part of why we love her as we do. To live with her we prepare ourselves for the unexpected, live life on the edge, not knowing if it will rain or shine, but loving either way.

She changes her mind in a whim for what motivation we will never know. One moment she’ll cry a pool of rain drops, pouring forth sadness and grief over her mud streaked hillsides. The next moment, she spits hail or frozen rain, like a biting tongue, as we stand under a tree and wait for this to pass. In an angry burst she may fill the sky with ruptures of lightning shooting from a leaden sky.  Or be so sweet and soothing on those days where she softly dances with her veil of lacy silver clouds rolling about her gorges beneath a powdery sky, all wet and warm as she feeds her lush hillsides and adds plenty to the river below.

And then on mornings like this, she stands robust and solid, cold and proud.  She is just a little bit taller under that clear blue sky, indifferent to the translucent paths of tell-tale smoke from chimneys drifting down her still frozen hillsides from the last of the wanders upon her raw valleys. She prevails above us all with a regal crown of snow decorating her majestic peaks.  Uplifting, fulfilled, wanting for nothing, but reminding us how much we long for. Shining strong in the morning sun, detached from our temperamental ways below.