We hear our horses’ hooves as they strike granite or we hear a running down of gravel. When a horse walks over a patch of moss, you hear nothing for a moment.
We hear each others’ dogs, but never each others’ voices; not until the day is finished and we are sitting by the fire in a hut somewhere, and even then no-one says much.
We hear the wind, and feel it tugging at our faces. We may hear nothing but that wind for three days and nights.
What we hear when everything else is quiet, and what we have all come to hear, is the sound of mountains doing whatever mountains do. I suppose you could think of it as a form of gravity, a weight that we all feel under us. It would be stupid to say that the mountains bear us any ill will; as stupid as it would be to say that we belong there. We are ants if you like, creeping up over a large animal. It is always huge and we are always ants.
There are no birds.
By Lynn Jenner
The author, Lynn Jenner, has waived all copyrights over "She used to ask me, what is it like up there?". This means that you are free to reuse it without restriction.
Mix & Mash 2011 - Literature Remix Category http://www.mixandmash.org.nz/
