Salzburger Blueberry Hills As mountains stood still - every hill I climbed, I descended from. Every hill I climbed-down, I reclaimed. As mountains stood still - from the valley, what seemed to be the same rock, sand and flora century old formation - with different summits, is a forest of mountains, from the top - stretching for kilometers, sparsely sprinkled between valleys, rivers, lonely log-cabins, villages, and small towns. As mountains stood still - between waterfalls, from which I in-took their glacial Clearwater, and steep slopes, I met the lazy cow that made the cheese I ate, out of a pine wood plate - of the tree I almost tripped upon its roots, in a form of Jause and the milk that marbled its rich complexion through my coffee, and while soaring from tip to tip, with a small pocket knife, I shaped dead wood into useful balancing tools. As mountains stood still - two thousand meters up, where the body temperature fluctuates as fast as the cloud moves, a cloud that is never still, where the sun can, if it wins the battle against cloud formations, greet you at every peak before another peak steals it away, where mountains stood still, although still moody, I went up and down different shades of greens, from light - dark - dry - new and old to black greens, peaks, piles of fat-cow and sheep shits, but made sure that none of the millions of Heide blueberry bushes - the mountain floor carpet, that grows upon them, are not crushed under my dirty boots but between my soon to be dark blue/Lila teeth. Sent from Diabel iPad
Posted on: Sat, 13 Sep 2014 23:46:52 +0000
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