The textured rocks stayed as still as possible. A few had been loosened by the earths grip, and therefore could not take the pressure of the human sole. But they gave subtle warnings, and so the sole forgave them, and respected them, choosing instead to walk upon other rocks, which had not been so tattered from wear. Nearer to the tip of peak, the rocks were more refined, smoothed by the wind into slippery surfaces that seemed to give plenty of space for the sole to wander. They gave you all the room to step upon them, but let you slip, just a little, so you knew that instead you should walk among the creases and the cracks of where the rocks meet one another. Upon these small, almost nonexistent paths, nearly sixty soles made their way slowly to the top; at some point their corresponding hands grasped tightly together. Soles planted firmly on the highest rocks, and body blowing softly with the heavy clouded winds, nearly sixty eyes photographed the fading, fall, green terrain and the dipping, mountainous ventures. Sliding, crawling, and jumping down the same stacked rocks, soles were no longer only soles, but rather souls, who joyfully soaked in the cold sunny rays after feeling the frozen droplets from the sky. Souls filed underneath roofs protected from the winter winds, sipping on creamy café con leche, gulping down cañas, and resting their soles and their somewhat torn and ravaged hands, which clung tightly to the rugged, yet friendly, rocks. The souls thank the rocks for their gentle moments, despite their rough nature; for teaching many things without a single word, other than the whisper and whistling of the winds.
roam&wander 