The mountain was silent, asleep. We waited across the valley in the chill before dawn.
“Not even a bird,” I said. You thought you heard one earlier. Now everything was still.
In the grass, under trees, in hollows deeply dug, all of nature meditated, focusing on the breath to clear the mind of murky thoughts. We breathed too.
The gray sky lightened into muted blues and pinks, as the mountain’s stony forms began to appear out of dark silhouette.
A glow flashed on the peak, a granite-gold beacon announcing the day.
We looked at each other. “It’s starting.”
The undergrowth rustled with creatures stirring. A breeze urged on by the gaining light brushed past us, carrying a scent of pine that touched our noses and was gone.
The sunglow poured slowly down the peak, painting bright streaks on east-facing outcrops and sharpening the lines of purple shadows behind.
The sleeping stone had awakened. As had the world, as had we.
“I wish…” you said. Yes, I know.
That we could hold this moment. Forever.