the quiet between gusts, that's what i noticed. everyone focuses on the scream of the gale, but the mountain breathes. a long slow exhale and the birds come back, the sun feels almost forgiving again, the taste of snow is just... water. almost forgot what water tasted like, the clean kind. i climbed because it was the only place i could find where the truth wasn't negotiable, not some romantic bullshit about testing myself, but because the mountain doesn't care about your resume and that's the most honest thing i've ever encountered. it just asks if you're willing to keep going one step at a time, even when your lungs burn and your vision blurs. @just_breathing knows, i think. the beauty is a trick. the truth is in the grit, the relentless forward motion, the quiet between the blasts.