The Oldest Mountain

Up they went and the mountain grew smaller. Up they climbed and the rocks walked down. Up they scaled and the sheer face flattened. Her hands under his arms at just the right place. Up they flew and he perspired some more. He could smell her no longer. His oder was a waft in the howling winds. Up they waivered and he felt he was going to plunge Backwards all the way 'round to the ground.

To the beginning. To that first red kiss. To the lawyer with the signing papers. To her funeral. ‘No. Please Camilla. Not back there.’, he thought and reached out for... anything rather than this moaning air as it tumbled empty through his frantic, grasping hands. Nothing could be seen- just night and silver clouds and then... a silver-tinged-jutting crag of old lava. “Don’t leave me now Camilla.”, comes his breathless whisper, at last holding fast his new rocky savior.

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And there she is again. All around him. Lifting him towards the clouds. Up towards the moon. There comes her imploring howl,"Almost there. Don’t give up. Your oldest mountain to climb. This is your summit Barry. You are almost there."And he roars! "We've done it my Dear! We've done it...Camilla?"

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And here is where the air is thin. And Down cast his head to look upon those torn-up old hands. And Down his tears fly in the forests of his whiskers. And Down float his knees to victory. And down his heart sinks. To that last red kiss. To that be-spectacled lawyer with the tweed armor and the signing papers. To her funeral dormant in dark sunglasses. He's climbed the oldest mountain.

"Congratulations Barry." he hears her whisper. And Up he looks to the Moon.