Breathing Where the Earth Meets the Sky

I’ve always wondered what it must feel like to live on a mountain. As in living to let the sky become your closest neighbor and the clouds would drift lazily at eye level, as though they came by simply to greet you.

I remember reading about such a place in Jeanine Cummins’ American Dirt, a town perched on the mountain it seemed to lean against the heavens. Such a lovely book. The description felt almost enchanted, fog-like soft veils, landscapes carved with lush greenery, houses nestled into slopes as if mother earth shaped these homes with her hands. I researched it later, out of curiosity and hope, but it turned out to be fictional, sadly. Still, the idea of it held onto me. Fiction or not, beauty like that always finds a way to root itself in the imagination.

Sometimes I catch myself daydreaming about life up there. What it would feel like to wake up wrapped in mist so thick that it feels like you could sip the morning air or how the cold breeze might seep into your lungs and scrub away the noise of the world. I am so sure that up there, noise wouldn’t exist at all. Also, I daydream how stepping outside would feel like walking into a poem, quiet, vast, and humbling.

Living on a mountain perhaps would seem like living slightly outside time. Up where everything would slow down. Up where your thoughts can wander without bumping into anything and where the earth feels a little closer to the divine. Perhaps, it’s the idea of distance, not isolation, but clarity. The kind you only discover when you rise above everything else. Or perhaps the promise of silence. Or it’s simply that some places, even imaginary ones, make you believe in softer versions of life.

And so I imagine it often, the view stretching endlessly, the sky brushing my forehead, the chill settling gently on my skin. Living on a mountain, I don’t know if I ever will but the thought itself already feels like therapy. A therapy that I find very helpful.

My response to the freewrite daily prompt

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