When you reach the top of a mountain, you can almost feel the air thinning

You have to pay very close attention to it though

It’s hard because your legs feel like playdough, but not new playdough

No, 

your legs feel like playdough that a kindergartener just smashed against the wall 500 times and peeled off the wall and poundedwith a mallet 

and then stretched and twisted until it was a barely held together string of 25% playdough and 75% toddler snot

Nevertheless, your entire body feels different at 14,000 feet

wind tortures your hair, you feel too light and too heavy

Miniscule 

Gigantic

Everything a bit simpler up here,

Everything below inconsequential

Everything above blue

Everything below grey

Just you and a bunch of big rocks

(And many other hikers with fluorescent shirts, inexperienced. Did you see that one guy was wearing tennis shoes and jeans? Ridiculous! And your brothers are here of course, you couldn’t keep them away from mountains even if you tried. But for a moment you can pretend it’s just you up here, you have always been a master pretender.)

Mountain tops rise and fall like frozen waves,

layers of sediment nestled together like a family of otters

Your brother starts pointing at different peaks, all the names he recites slip through your brain crevices like water

But maybe, 

just for a second,

you focus on the air you’re breathing,

and take a breath

The air is a tissue floating down your windpipe

Swirling 

Fluttering

You’re greedy, so you reach for more and more, hoping for solidity