Perched on the crown of Hochblauen, the earth below had vanished. All was grey and featureless, save the shifting light that added some sobriety. In this embrace, I contemplated my new state. I felt as though, with time, and not my constant adulation, the beauty of this place would pervade my consciousness, striking new depths from which to draw in times of real thirst and seeking. But there was more in the mist. Buried within these storied woods, shrouded in fog and slow growth, slow decay, I saw myself. The casual rot of being. Negotiating the narrow, rocky trail of progress, not always knowing that the path I'm on is right. Merely that this path runs in only two directions. Onward, and backward. At the forks, when they come, I can take pause, gather up my bearings, and guess. We call it faith, sometimes, and at least some of those sometimes, we do so to avoid the uncertainty of responsibility. Ball's in your court, I turned left in faith. Eventually, as I descend and the dawn's cool blanket lifts, it becomes clear that where I am matters less than why.
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