The Wistful Mountain
The sky did not break so much as it dissolved, a slow and terrifying exfoliation of the blue firmament into a churning, leaden void that swallowed the horizon whole, leaving only the jagged, indifferent teeth of the granite peaks standing against the encroaching dark, and I stood there, my boots sinking into the wet, sucking loam of the high alpine meadow, feeling the absolute, crushing weight...
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