scary mountains

It's Bastille day today I suppose. 

Went up the third mountain of this summer yesterday; in progressive difficulty, I'm regaining the strength that went away. "That's what happens when you lose 15 lbs of muscle" my friend said. My other friend said it was easier than things I'd done easily before, but despite that I think it was more risky to life in general this time. Having a goat charge at you downhill at high altitudes, or crossing a long strip on a snow/ice slope with no trail where you can just slip and never be seen again were new. The thin air too at that altitude probably took more energy than the oxygen I get back breathing nonstop for such a long time. And yet they come with a thrill, throwing myself at danger and seeing if I'll come out alive through the ordeal.

The habit of taking many pictures still remains, I suppose I'm happy to keep it with me even if the film goes straight to a shelf, and the memory gets offloaded eventually when I need space. Even on the unstable ice slope, I was yelled at, "you better ******* put that camera away" from the other side. I always read and think things, but through the act of doing, maybe that's what carries true meaning. Or something to like that. I don't really consider myself a photographer in any way, but I always want to capture a feeling or an emotion, I hope for it to be conveyable and understandable.  With this, I finally run out of film, I'll have to get more. whenever I get to that.

Driving back, the rush to the gas station fills the chest with excitement, the thought of a refreshment or maybe even two brings about a excitable and frantic rush as water tends to always run out far too earlier than expected. And yet, having arrived I had the feeling that the rush and impatience came from memory. When arriving to the station was also the first sign of signal, the time I could check my phone with rushed excitement, to say something I had wanted to say through the entire climb and a feeling of reunion. Things have a way of looking clearer only when they are missing from sight. But happiness, sadness, emptiness, fullness, they all come around to be warmth when you embrace them.

This time the cold drinks didn't seem as quenching. The drive home didn't have as much rush and impatience as if I were in the final stretch of a race in first in the chest. But the half moon was so pretty and vivid, it seemed to follow me no matter where I went. And when I eventually fwumped back in bed, I passed out all the same.