Chapter One
The mountain could not remember the beginning. It only knew folds and spars which might remember. “I was flat back then,” said some, or “Water was above me,” but the mountain could not recall. Those were memories of parts, and the mountain was a whole. It’s hard to be a whole mountain, something only other mountains talk about.
The mountain’s earliest memories were of height, as if that were a thing by itself. It had just been tall, the mountain knew, a thrilling feeling for a baby! Imagine if your earliest memory were of being tall. You would look around for what might be below.
The mountain remembered, however, that it could see little below. It saw mostly rain in those days, and horrible lightning. There were other mountains nearby, so it was not scared. The mountain only wondered what everyone was so angry about. But it didn’t worry too much, because the rain just ran off, and the lightening kind of tickled.
Years and years went by without much change. Time goes very fast for a mountain, yet it doesn’t feel cheated. Mountains live so long they think there is always more.