“
Time is only ever overlapping tumbling versions of the now
— Robert Macfarlane
Time is only ever overlapping tumbling versions of the now
Those who travel to mountain-tops are half in love with themselves, and half in love with oblivion.
Time slows, swirls, repeats. Each step is hard going, the heavy pack peeling me back off the slope or jamming me into it. Spindrift hisses into my face, frets my cheeks. I murmur a mantra to myself: Take the time that needs to be taken, take the time that needs to be taken.
