There is a mountain named Kuselvak who's appearance is made in the distancce when fog is absent of the landscape. Her and I have gained an inner knowledge of one another. The long rides I take beside her allow us to speak for a while. She has many secrets. She's beautiful, old, kind. You would find the comfort of a mother in her appearance. Somedays she's swooned over by clouds. Other days she stands brightly white in the sun. Somedays she appears close enough to touch. Other days she's just a distant illusion daring your eyes to doubt her existance. She reminds me of the lost soul within me. Somedays dancing in the sunlight like a free-spirit bohemian. Other days hidden away in the shadows like a broken heart. And the days that she shows her emotions, they are almost always identical to mine. She knows my soul better than my own brother whom ran beside me through my whole childhood. She knew me not then. Yet somehow she cherishes the memories the same way I do. She feels my heartbeat with the land, and her low hum is singing the same song as my dancing feet.
