But climbs since then have me convinced, and now I love my calves. Then, an ice cave dirge. My daughters threw flowers which broke against the glass lid of my coffin. My wife wailed and moved to Kansas, where it's flat as death and Jayhawks sing hello. Now Sherpas bring biscuits for breakfast and we're back humping loads.
Base camp feels like blackboard fingernails erasing every angle of ascent.
Humming glaciers plow the laggards into chalk. Mandalas of gravity spin rocks the size of homes. I wonder if my mail has found my daughters in their little room with fuzzed wallpaper clouds. Snow, discussion, plans, routes. We are to wear our sponsor's heart on our sleeves at all times.