We've come to a pool beside a pull of with a hydrant and guard post that reads P and O. It is formed by a old foot bridge across the rocky stream that has become a waterfall of rock,tall tree roots and planks. Here we can rest and I can look back on our days in quest of The Mountain. The time we were given came with the choice to not try, or go as far as we could. Had the night been calm and without the light of the full moon we would have taken it. Ours was one with full moonlight and hurricane force winds. The wind sent our best efforts, and us, packing in her gauntlet of fury. I enjoyed the dance, down to the walk of shame with my broken staff and world bundled to cradle on my shoulders like a crucifix for miles. My calves ran purple like my van from the effort. No summit, but a shaded pool and reflections of the day. The gem of facing impossible winds till you can go no further and survive. The mountain. Survive what no one has ever endured, except in myth and I was only cursed one time back down the mount.
Jeez! I better stop and just look at the shiny objects in this reflecting pool.