Gods Green Trumpet.
An instrument of nature used to scream to the world ‘Look how beautiful I am. Be of envy’. Shouty, boastful Alps. Shouldering each other aside for prize place on a craggy stage.
Gigantic lakes of slushy tears collect around their heartless ankles from a constant weeping about their own beauty.
Cowardly they duck behind the foreground. Behind bell towers and truck stops. Behind gentle growth and lazy homes. Peeping out for a glimpse of the infinite smallness. They are scared that our voyeurism will suck the beauty from their form.
Some stand proud and solid, directly ahead of you. Waitng fearlessly for a snatch of your bewilderment. These are the brave ones. The ones that simply dissapear into the ever fading horizon as we surpass their ancient stance.
But perhaps the Alps have grown lazy. Perhaps they once ploughed around the globe as we now plough over them. Perhaps they explored and discovered, up rooted and ransacked. Looking for some answers or meaning to it all.
And perhaps they got sick of this and retired to a flat land where the air was clear and the skies were blue and food was cheap and no one asked to many questions.
They are clearly long since retired from a life of adventure and have probably forgotten themselves and want nothing more than peace and quiet.
I’m sorry the Alps…