Mountaintop

Sunlight filtered through the trees, a light gust of air drifting through the sunlit gaps, fluttering the bright green leaves, the air crisp and clean. It was an unusually lovely summer day.

A summer day when I had to study through the hours of sparkling sunshine and warm summer breeze. A summer day whose potential was lost because of the absence of unrestraint.

The afternoon was particularly beautiful, with a tangy yellow tint in the skies and a sweet flowery scent floating around with the birds.

 I had just woken from an abrupt nap.

The day seemed to overflow with joy and hope and lucky chance as I approached my books, and I sat, heavily feeling the opportunity cost of a day as nice as this.

I looked out the window.

There are some things that move a person, not necessarily in an inspirational, abstract way, but in a way that transports them deliberately out of their current circumstance to something much bigger and much more purposeful. It could be life-changing or simply as small as a daydream.

I watched a person, on the terrace of a very tall building, leaning on the rail, and my first notion was panic. They were smoothening the metal out under their hands and leaning forward so wilfully I almost cried out, knowing fully well that the building was too far for the air to carry my voice.

Then I saw a rope fastened around their hip. It was then that my mind began a steadfast storytelling display.

I watched as another person walked to another railing on the terrace, separated from the first by a meter or two. Their gait seemed slower and somehow tranquil, almost seductive.

I was washed over by a feeling of wanting to be alone on a mountaintop. I felt a warmth on my face, my eyes automatically closing to the golden glow around me. The air was cold and my cheeks felt flushed. Down below me, I could see a gushing waterfall tide into an ice-filled stream of blue water. I could hear, but not see, chirping birds, through the stillness of nature. My heart felt like it would explode from the astonishing calmness.

Sometimes, we barely understand what we’re feeling. The thoughts and ideas that materialize in our minds because of an apparently random occurrence can leave us feeling completely transformed.

It felt like the sunlight had gotten brighter, and the breeze had snowballed into a careful wind as I turned to look at the people on the faraway terrace.

They were talking. My mind was screaming stories of romance and unattainable love. I was asking my mind not to blow everything out of proportion, and yet it always tended to do just that. They were just separated by a meter of metal, not by the great oceans and two continents.

The person on the second railing was moving back and forth, like they were laughing. The first person, although I couldn’t see a shadow on their face, was amused and looked rather satisfied, my mind had assumed.

Then, the second person leaned forward and pressed their chin to their palms, which were holding the railing. The first person turned away, almost like they were shrugging. The second person disappeared back to where they had come from. I was almost certain that they would walk all the way down to the lobby of their side of the building, and walk up to the first person’s terrace to be reunited with their lover. Nothing of the sort happened.

I watched the first person, alone, bending and doing some work.

I felt the snow crunch under my feet as I walked down the mountain. There was morning dew on the blades of grass. Pink flowers exploded from thick green bushes, and the air smelled like pinecones and apples.

I skipped down the mountain, surrounded by wintry joy and the sound of nature.