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The Crystal Mountain Path.
as featured in

"Collecting Vignettes"  E: A vignette is a brief evocative description, account, or episode. Slice of life stuff.

The crystal mountain path shimmered in the thin, crisp air. I walked my mule alongside it's translucent surface but I could not resist walking on it myself. My deerskin boots crunched with every step and little puffs of atomized quartz marked their way.



Once or twice I raised my head to sight the landmarks; largely I let the mule lead. Ive lived in forests all my life. I've travelled across mountains before. I've even seen the sea once, many years ago. But I've never seen such a thing as a crystal mountain path, and I am wan to take my eyes off it.No matter how old and sore and rheumy they are today.



I don't know anything about minerals; I am no quarry man. I do not know how such a thing came to be. If the crystal mountain path was made by the hand of man or if it's way was made of it's own accord.



Because I was so intent on the mysteries underfoot, I failed to notice the fork. While I may have navigated my way off the cliff top and down to a broken death, my mule was not so wont to be caught dreaming. This time.



I ran my hand along his grey streaked neck. To the west, the fork of crystal mountain path travelled for a further thirty yards and then seemed to meander through some trees. I could not discern their type from such a distance. To the east, the crystal mountain path forked sharply down, no doubt it would eventually leave this mountain and if followed would lead to a valley. Perhaps verdant with good growth and soil, a boon for any farmer. Or perhaps verdant with more of the strange crystal, perhaps reefs of gleaming rock beading in the thick morning air.



"And ahead? What of ahead of you old man?"

I turned my head slowly, puzzled.

"Long journeys we have had. Mine, not as long as yours. But still together we have travelled here to this crossroads. "

My old eyes watered and my old mule swam in and out of focus. For surely this was he who was now conversing with me? We had not seen another soul for weeks.

"Old mule?" I quested.

"Yes Old Man. Old mule. Old friend, my way is ahead but yours is west or yours may be east. Up or down Old Mountain. Away from or always within. "

"Old mule! Ahead is a broken death," I gestured grandly. "A mule such as you can walk himself through terrible terrain, or for leagues on end....but..."

Here I faltered as the vista before me cleared and my vision, hampered by age and human frailty, crystalized.

"Old Mule to Old Man, goodbye." He dipped his great whiskered head and touched my shoulder, nudging me, and I gasped as his hoofed feet walked the rainbow bridge. His hooves skated graceful and no damage to the rainbow bridge could I discern.

"Old mule..."

"Old Man?"

"..."

"I would get going if I was you Old Man. You know how your knees seize and your hips ache if you pause too long."

True to his telling, a dull aches slow beat in my right hip was in it's infancy.



I looked again at the forks of this crystal mountain path, east and down or west and up. Away or within, Old Mule had said.

I did not muse as I turned to the left away from the pain in my right hip and followed the crystal mountain path west. Walking, traveling, with no destination but a journey of steps. Not struggling lost in a marvelous crystal miracle but enjoying it's enveloping light.


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Johny Thundersbeard
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"The Steampunk Authors' Guild " 
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WDC Author of the Month May 2012
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