| Abstrakt: |
I look out the window: raindrops gather and pause on the pane, trembling before their paths down the glass. The routes rise in all directions, at all difficulties - paths that emerged from hours of earnest attempts and discussions. I draw a triangle on the window with my finger, and there, like my friend said, are the possible routes of a mountain. Writing After the Mountain I. WE WALK OUR TALL, cowboy-hatted climbing partner into the movie theater and buy him a ticket. [Extracted from the article] |
