The Mountains: A Love Letter

There is an ache in my bones, a haunting call in my heart, a yearning in my soul. A need, raw and deep. All this to say I am in love with the mountains. In all their wild, rugged, majestic beauty, ancient and wise. Peaks and valleys and ground sanctified by the gods who lived among the mountains once. Where old earth and air magic still reign unchecked. It’s a type of homesickness within me the mountains call to, ignite, like I’ve strayed too far away. It’s a slow burn, a fire being built back up from embers, this need to return to the embrace of the mountains. Even if my mind doesn’t, my body feels it, and remembers. Remembers the way the magic feels, prickling against my skin. The way the earth seems calmer, the air more chaotic. How I feel like I’ve come home when I go to the mountains. Life becomes something different in the air scented by early snow. In the place where earth and sky meet, where the peaks become a brilliant tapestry of colour at sunrise and sunset, where time moves differently, where reconnecting with the earth is as easy as breathing. And the ghostly memories of the old gods fill the spaces between the peaks, a quiet magic itself. All this to say I’m in love with the mountains, as a child of wind, earth, and sky. As a child born of the mountains themselves.