My Mountains...

My Mountains...
The mountains that surround my house have always been told to be haunted, but I don’t believe it. Never once have I been disturbed by ghosts, and very often I believe that the mountain is actually the one that protects me. My village has mostly deserted the mountains and moved on to find better lives, but there are a few people who remain here. Even now, as a child I love the mountains and would never leave them.

The years have passed now and everyone has gone, except for me. Mother let me make my own choice when she was leaving, she said I was old enough to choose but she suggested that I follow her. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t bear to leave the only place I’d ever managed to call home. I am a farmer now and have been since Mother left. I have my garden which I’ve kept in shape and I have the chickens and the cow. My food is simple, but pleasing.
Even when Mother was here we never did have a big house, a small mud building with two beds inside and a boiler that Mother had gotten as a wedding present had always been big enough.
Although I am alone now I never feel lonely, if I could, I would tell you it’s because of the mountains. The mountains might have kept me from my family, my friends and one day my loved one but in a way I don’t need them. At night I lie awake and listen, just listen to the glorious sounds of the mountains and its inhabitants. Every now and again a howl makes my bones shiver, but not out of fear, out of pleasure. Often as the sun sets and I walk the faded paths I come across deer and fox, they are so used to me though that they merely look down again and carry on with their beautiful lives.

The world might be better for many outside of nature’s reach but not for me, it is in nature that I truly find myself. My mountains are free and with them I to can be free. I run through the trees sometimes and as those branches hit me and scratch me and the sand under my feet tries to take me forever I know that I couldn’t live without the mountains and that they couldn’t live without me. Maybe I just hope for that but even if that is so there is one thing I do know; the mountains would not be the same without me and me without them.

A lot more time has come and gone now and although I am still young I know I am dying. The nights are cold now and the mountains do not talk so much anymore. I have started to crave others or just my mountains again, but deep within my heart I know this will not happen. The days when I could run through the trees have passed and my last few arrived. Although I am aware that I die it is not that which scares me, but the thought that my mountain has left me and when I leave it we shall never meet again. The door to my life is closing and slowly I am losing sight of all that was behind it.
My last morning has arrived at last and although I am scared for myself, I am more so for the mountain. The questions of what will become of my mountains remain in me, unasked and ignored. My window shows the mountains, their white peaks sparkling down onto my house. For the first time in my life it feels like the mountains are shining on me, spreading their natural wind upon my heart and calming me for the moment I know will soon come. Inspired to feel the mountain for the last time I venture out onto the hill, the grass underfoot is green and long, long enough so that I can lie down and see nothing but the sky above me and the mountain peaks shining down on me. Lying in the grass I remember running through the mountain, being one with the mountain and loving it.
As I lie in the grass I feel like the mountain. I hear it speaking and we embrace, reunited one last time before the end. I know that the mountain is peace and always will be peace because with it I feel peaceful.