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Banbury Cross

a pillow for lost thoughts...

Post details: The Sentinel Pass

The Sentinel Pass

Unbridled eyes galloping over invisible sediments of time. Green smiles parading on a carpet of alpine meadows. The glassy sky slowly turning around an axle of a glistening flute of Sun. Chiseling fibers of wind caught in the dreamy draft. Gelatinous blue of the glacier lakes. Memories wrapped in an echo chamber of half drunk glasses of wine.

I am sitting at the rocky outcrop of Sentinel Pass, muscles aching from a steep ascent into a narrow saddle between Eiffel Peak and Mount Temple in the Canadian Rockies. Some 2610 meters above the sea level. Stern and rugged slopes frame the breathtaking panorama of the surrounding ridges. They say that "might makes right", but I would tweak this old adage to "height makes right".

There is something about the intrinsic three dimensionality of mountains that gives people certain natural depth without making them pretentious and affected. As if it was the brooding majesty of alpine peaks that prevented our souls from deflating into a parody of greatness. Sure, the hardship of life in the mountains itself is deterrent enough for aspiring crooks, but the beauty of snow capped peaks contributes an extra layer of magnificence.

Stacy Aumonier once wrote a short story "Kidnapped General", in which a bus driver hijacks a doubledecker full of London bankers, drives them far beyond the boundaries of the city and releases them into the fields and meadows so they could find the lost meaning of life.

And that is what mountains bestow upon our wretched existences. The lost meaning of life. Nature has a way of realigning our priorities, filling us with a sense of wonder and recharging our mental batteries.

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