Hymn for the Mountains

I am resurrected, come back from a glassy-eyed death, by the songs of the mountains. Resuscitated by thin alpine, snow-scented air rushing through the peaks. Wrapped in a blanket of pine needles, with leaves and flowers twisted into my hair. My veins have become roots of trees and mushrooms; my ribcage, the home of mountain wildlife. My remaining bones scattered to the wind; but I’ve regrown from these alpine roots. My soul has become one with those here. My skin and bones etched with the stories and secrets of the witches in the mountains. My soul carrying the ancient knowledge of the fey. Skin sewn together by the earth and rain. Hewn by the elements of the truly wild. I am an abyss filled with the magic of the mountains. A hidden realm of all things beginning and ending in the foothills and peaks. Woven by the words unheard dancing in the wind. An unbroken being of wild chaos. A story untold…