The Splinters

I wake to that low blue light, light like the edge of a candle, already knowing I’ll be the only one up- I’ll have the mountains to myself. The coffee machine grunts and whirs, grumbles at having been woken up so early. Outside on the porch I sit with my mug, pen out, trying to switch from the instinctual, horizon-free-of-threats mindset and into a creative one, to see the world as interesting and worthy of wonder; translate a bit of that into something someone halfway across the world could picture while they drink their own coffee six hours from now.

I look up from the page and watch the light drape itself over the eastern face of a rain-filled tree, a waterfall of green bokkah. Further on, mountains so dramatic it’s like it was only yesterday that they crashed into each other and splintered up into the blue. Titanic plates driving each other into the sky.

I’ve had more luck with the camera than with words here. I don’t have much to say about Switzerland, but that’s part of what I like about it- the mountains speak for themselves. Head up with a rope and friend and you don’t need to talk much to feel alright. But if you want to laugh, it’s sunny, you can laugh. If you want to talk about something serious, only the distant cows are going to hear you. If you just want to just shut up and climb, well that’s ok too. 

I’m looking forward to getting up into the splinters again tomorrow. When I have free time on tour I’ll usually walk around a city at least once, but I don’t ever feel like I know a place until I’ve climbed to the top of it, seen its wrinkles and bald patches, watched it breathe a little. I like meeting people too of course, but I can’t help thinking that all the cathedrals we build, the cities and the high rises, our grandest projects… we’re just this old mountain’s latest set of clothes.