Allender Mountain

The culture of suspended droplets, riveted in sheets to the mountainside, swarming, congregating, propositioning and quiet.

Quiet I say, as an arrangement of behavior unbecoming of quiet. Quiet muddying the compass needle’s point, stung by the frost, common looking quiet, until required to step through.

and the curves, the swooping crowds of white pouring from the raked face of Allender Mountain, pour us as well, appearing from its folds without lack of clarity, we rummage through the vaporous waypoints.

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Waiting, Waiting…


I’m chomping at the bit, whittling the time away, scratching at the itch, to get out there, but the snow just doesn’t want to stop.