Mountain Love Story
There were once two mountains and they were in love. Neither could say how long they had loved the other. Millennia perhaps. They were lucky, both agreed. Lucky to have found themselves facing one another in a fir valley with a slate-grey river. They just had so much in common! They’d shared the same glacier, had been shaped by the same winds. The same rains and storms had blasted their sides and when the frost-shattered rocks fell, they fell from their faces as though synchronised. They’d been through a lot together of course, and sometimes they had to remind each other that they were in love. The larger of the two mountains would make the wind whisper dutifully “What are the chances? What are the chances?” as it coursed across his cordillera. The smaller of the two mountains would sigh, and the sigh, running down her slopes, would skim across the slate-grey river: “I know! I know!” Clearly, there were challenges. The larger of the two mountains could be clingy sometimes and the smaller of the two mountains didn’t express irritation well. They had fights. But on the whole, they each knew the other, and had learnt to accept and forgive and just get on. They both did being mountains well. So they lived their lives together, these two mountains, and silently thanked the stars that each had a side that the other couldn’t see.