every mile seems like a thousand
on the indifferent mountain.
I long for a hot cup of tea,
the rain like a waterfall
soaking me through into my very soul
for this is torture not a gentle stroll
and I fear falling from a precarious path
sensing the ghosts of those who've perished here
but suddenly the rain ceases
and then appears a stupendous sight:
the sun paints gold onto Striding Edge
as dark clouds break apart like sea ice
and a rainbow forms...as if paradise.