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To Sara Gaffney-Gilbertson's previous piece
The Power is in Me I have come across the mountain lying lengthwise on its side five thousand feet gone in one instant, from youth to helpless elder simpering in wounded agony, years have slid past death whimpers in the melt of snow draining down its face. Once the height of fear, furious, terrifying creature, I fought unending battles caught in terror at its strength. I would not bow to its power I would not bow to misplaced judgment, nor its fury, hatred, pain, agony, torture I would not bow. I would not bow. The wind has moved with me, changed its mood after countless years of sudden gales and force fed turns. It burrows angry frowns through open mountain crevass sweeps in and out with amazing speed emerging as a tempered breeze to where i stand open eyed calm faced without tears, I watch the mountain die.
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