The world was on display underneath him, distant and small so far down. He wondered what it would be like to fall back down, what it would be like to forget about the climb. He put skydiving on his to-do list. The summer sun was weak but he felt warm underneath it none the less and his lips were arched in a grinning half-smile.
He was sitting on a ledge, feet dangling in the air. The wind tried to push him back up away from the ledge, to safety, it wasn’t too powerful but enough to ruffle his hair and nudge his unbuttoned coat every now and then.
Once he had told himself he would climb up the mountain wall to the ledge which he now sat on, but he didn’t have the gear for that. So he had walked up the longer route, around the mountain, like he always did. It had taken him well over an hour but it was time well spent, at least in his mind.
As he sat there and thought, he leaned back against the flat rock that made up the ledge and closed his eyes for a moment. For half a second he regretted not brining his laptop but dismissed the notion altogether, he had made the trip to disconnect himself after all. Instead he produced a notebook and a pen from a backpack that he’d brought.
Using the bag as a make-shift pillow he relaxed and gazed up into the fluffy clouds above. Shifting his attention to the note book he put the pen to the paper and wrote, Took the long route up the mountain today, June 19. Pausing he thought of something else to write since the page still looked too naked.
Being unsuccessful but not dispirited, he put aside the note book and the pen for a moment and continued to gaze down at the landscape stretching out into clear blue infinity. He thought of things he would have written had he had access to Facebook or Twitter, probably something equally empty as the note book-page.
Suspended high above the world he had found sanctuary, a place to escape from the humming sound of PCs and the glow of monitors. For the first time in a long while he was not connected to everything, no PC, no laptop, no phone – nothing.
He took a deep breath, inhaling slowly and exhaling even slower. He glanced at his note book again, picked it up and held the pen in tentative fingers. How is it, that every time I come here I see a different view? The mountain does not move, at least not to my knowledge. What is it that pulls me to this place, forcing me back here so often?
Pausing he looked up from the note book and stared once more at the fields, roads, trees, buildings, lakes and miniature cars. A contemplating smile had ignited a spark in his eyes. I suppose it is the distance, well that and the beauty of this place. It doesn’t try or even care to be anything… it just is. Perhaps I want to just be as well?
He sat there as if frozen in thought for countless moments, not seeing the minutes making up the hour that passed. Or perhaps it is because it makes it so easy for me to think of nothing in particular. Yes, could be that. It is so much easier to see everything when you’re mind isn’t occupied with thinking about it.
It was only when the small page had been filled with words that he noticed that the sun had climbed across the sky and begun its slow descent. Packing up his belongings so did he begin to descend. As the rhythm of surefooted habit guided him downwards he looked again to the sky and for the first time in months he felt calm and relaxed, disconnected.