The Man and the Mountain

The man parked in the empty car park and glanced at the time on his phone, his gaze pausing at its depleted bars of signal. He looked up through the windscreen, inspecting the path ahead. The route was lost in bends and brows, but the mountain loomed above him like a challenge. With a set jaw and a knotted stomach, he got out of the car and began to walk.

The breeze gusted in the man’s face as he climbed, and he bowed his head. The sun lowered, as the mountain watched. It lifted the man higher with each step.

As he rounded a corner, the breeze turned to his back and helped him on. He stopped moving for a moment and listened. His breathing settled, and he heard nothing but the wind. The mountain was silent.

It was colder at the top. But the man did not put on the jacket he had packed, he sat down and took in the view. His eyes swept across a vast panorama, wisps of cloud pointing to the tiny roads and towns beneath them. The world was very far away, and he sighed a strange sigh of relief.

The man was not alone as he watched. The mountain looked down too, and it did not mind him. There was a warmth on the breeze as it blew, and the sun set.