Equal parts dirt and misery and companionship and triumph.
The despair of asthmatic exhaustion at the bottom of a 1000 ft mountain, short steep trudging steps, steady climb and an invaluable walking stick, the only thing preventing a slide. Then a clear ridge, Appalachians dropping off either side in the clean high altitude. Don't mind the eye-level vultures, you've already climbed higher than that.
And at the top in the midnight there are coyotes and friendly fires across the valley, while Orion made way for Cassiopeia and the Pleiades.
Jellypants is a steadyslow walker and a lovely talker, a perfect pace for Turtle, and the grandfathers with their ancestral Dutch moustaches offer wise encouragement. But mostly the Appalachians, with their mountain goat trails that push your feet up an otherwise insurmountable terrain, and after some crisp sunny quiet at the top tumble you back down bruised and joyously exhausted. So that's all. The mountain top is joy.
And heartbreak.
