It's Impossible not to Role Play Here

A few things first:

Mom: Only you, Matt, and Brian have the link. I was pretty lazy. Also, speaking of ice fantasy, funny you should mention (i had the idea before i read your post, i promise)...

Right. Spent 8 hours trying to get two generators to work today to no avail. /Very/ frustrating.

Read the below as if it was being narrated to you, out loud, if you must. That will make the repetition bearable.

Right. Impossible, you say? Well, when you're not working, or swearing at machines; if you're alone, or enjoying yourself, or driving the ATV (read: snow speeder), then yes, impossible. So, picture, if you will, a character, very much like yourself.....


You are alone and walking. It's quite cold; you know that. The ice, a few hundred feet high and just to your right, is happy to remind you. Still, you are hot; you strip. The fleece is gone. You walk. The down coat is replaced with the flimsy windbreaker. The hills go up, even when they slope downward. The glove liners and scarf go both at once.
You're walking alone, but can't think of a reason why you should be alone. Who would come to this place with no one else? What could possibly bring a lone soul here? What quest, what task, what journey, divine or mundane, would convince an individual to do this? Yet, the fact remains, you are quite alone. So, there must be companions. The reasons for their lack shove at each other, begging for purchase in your mind as you do in the sand and snow. Did you leave them behind because they had other things to do? Is your reason for leaving so personal that they had to be left? Is the journey so dangerous that you couldn't risk more than one? Or, maybe they have already been taken down by this place, dead or crippled.
You're thoughts break. There are tracks ahead, yours two days old. There are two long gouges in the snow where you fell, feet sliding. A single hand print is above them; a Passata di Soto if you will.
You continue to the top of a ridge, panting. A rock, the size of a Volkswagon provides a seat. For a moment, the comparison seperates your self from your Self. The only sound, as you stop, is the sound of you stopping. Having paused fully, the silence becomes full.
Walking again, only a few steps, you slip. You are no longer on the footpath, you realize. Righting yourself, you continue only to slip again. The Count di Soto is not there for you this time. Instinct puts a foot beneath you, the slide is short. Looking around, you realize that the rock you paused at this time is the rock you stopped at last time. You are no longer on familiar ground. The path, however, reveals itself below you.
Going down to meet it, you are at the ice again. This close, you can see that the columns and cracks look like ribs. You know the ice is old, very old. But from here, you know the ice is alive. You have to stop and take a picture. This time, the technology does not shatter the illusion. There are many Roles to Play. Walking, again, of course, up, the snow breaks beneath you. It is a reminder that there is a grave, of sorts, not far from here. Does the snow crunch, or are you cracking ribs.
Looking up, you see the Flag. The one that marks the path. It's so easy to do that, here, to get lost in yourself, lost in that over there, or this over here. Every time you turn your head, you are struck by a revelation of sight. The flag, so close, and it's twin. But your panting is loud enough to catch your attention. Just go to the flags, then stop. A half second's hesitation. Just go to the flags. Your knees, now, are as 'loud' as your breath. A second's hesitation, just go to the flags. You reach them, finally, and sit. Now it's the hat and the gloves that go. You know, having reached the flags, that the hills will no longer go up, even when they go down. Now they will simply go up.



So, I went on a hike today....