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The Infinity Mountains


· poetry

The road curves with the lines of the mountains, weaving in and out between capes and dense forest. 

The snow capped peaks are faint giants, a hazy portrait interrupted by dense winter clouds drizzling the earth. 

The landscape is marked by a pastel pallet of blue and gray and white;

even the evergreens are auraed by deep cobalt from a distance. 

Icicles, the height of a man, grow from the cliffs like stalactites; 

frozen waterfalls and snow-kissed ponds scatter the roadside, drawing the boarder between the road and the vast, expansive river. 

The Infinity Mountains

no person has ever seen the top, and no climber has lived to summit them;

cast under a perpetual fog of snow and mist, their peaks disappear 10,000 feet 

into thin air.  

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