Mountain Air

Mountain air flows through me. I breath it in through my nose, in cycles through my veins and I breath it gently from my mouth. The cold air clings to me like skin, wood smoke of the village is my natural scent. I cut my arm and autumn leaves flow out, leaving my body and floating gently through the sky. The leaves float across from the highest mountain tops, they shake loose from the trees like water shakes from a dogs fur.

            From the highest peak the leaves drift down, gently dancing as they go. They travel over the peaks and over the trees. They float down to the roads built by man and visit the lively villages where music rang. The leaves glide on the breeze, ever into the distance and ever downward. The autumn leaves find their way into the stream below. They pluck against the water and that is where they stay. Then the leaves start to move again as they are rushed away by the flowing stream.

            The mountain breaths a sigh of relief as the days grow shorter. Each breath sends a chilly wind down across the land. The people of the village feel the mountain's breath first but the cold breath warms as it travels down, so when the people of the city finally feel the breath of the mountain, it is no colder than a spring day. This is why it is always colder in the mountains.

            The cold air settles on the land, the sun drifts off to sleep and lights flicker in the village. Warm fires are lit in hearth and home. Fire, which was stolen from the gods and given to human kind, is used to help humans fight the dark and cold of night. The relaxing sound of flames burning at the wood mixes with the gentle noise of the wind blowing against the houses.

            The sun is down and the fires are lit. the mountain sleeps, the people sleep and I too, shall sleep.