| THIS IS A READ-ONLY ARCHIVE FROM THE SORABJI.COM MESSAGE BOARDS (1995-2016). |
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Because something says it is time for self discipline, and there it is, the tradition, already 8 days unfulfilled in spite of sunny weather. It is cold now. $30. In the parking lot, I briefly wonder if I will have the mountain to myself, but as I start back to the car for the right shoes, I see another going up. The few climbers are mostly regulars, lean men with walking sticks, women with broad beams and serious exercise clothes (do they dream of recovered glamour? or have they given up on that?), and yes, there he is, the Japanese man with headphones. He passes me, he'll see me on the way back and wave. But I am not tuned in to people on the way up, my thoughts are of the light, the stone, the sky. The dropping sun casts long shadows across the flat granite from every pebble, and picks up the warm undertone of the lichens. As I pass the first clearing, I begin to feel a trance coming on... It is hard making it to the pavilion, where I allow myself to stop and catch my breath. It has been too long. "You're not stopping here, are you?" a large middle-aged committed climber shouts. "You'll miss the best part." "No, I'm going on up." On the steep part, the effect of the sun makes stark, almost fluorescent blue shadows. My calves are killing me. I stop at the resting rock and take in the view. Couples pass. Breath slows. Onward. Taking the last part, the easier way with the white line, but still... Panting, I pass a woman heading down, . "I always... " "It's a good workout...." "forget to bring Kleenex." At the top. I see the Japanese man and wave, he barely recognizes me, it's been a long time, but finally he does, and waves. Another woman waves, speaks his name (I can't put letters to it) and goes over to talk. The building is not open, but the water fountain is running. I have no quarters for the viewers pointed to all directions. I just look. The sky is clean of clouds, the sun a red ball. I turn and turn and see horizon all around, pale blue sky, below it a wide pink stripe, then misty purple blue. In the northwest, north, east, the blue line is wavy with little mountains; to the south, flat; to the west, the spikes of the big town. A line from a poem written by a friend comes to mind. "The world is just a big old ball/ And not really infinite at all." On the side of the mountain, there are children now. A woman with three children is starting to leave. "You can't leave, you have to wait for me." says a little blonde girl seated on a rock. "I'm not ready yet." "I know you're tired, but you need to think about being ready soon," says the mother. Reluctantly she unbends her legs. "I might just fall asleep up here on Stone Mountain!" she declares. But she walks forward and takes her mother's hand. "It's easier going down," says the mother. I look out over the landscape, trees, patches of bare with buildings and roads (more than last time? surely...), a line of glowing red ants that dissipates and forms again... As I start down, I begin to compose these lines in my head, to you. People are still coming up. Near the top, I congratulate a panting man. As I am speaking to him, I see edge of the sun disappear below the horizon. Passing the resting rock, always a fearful moment for me, the surface is steep, washboardy and hard to get a solid grip on, my knees are not complaining but are always nervous. Four people speaking something other than English are going up. Sasha, the little girl, starts to cry. They turn and go down. French. As I slowly zig zag down, I see another little girl crawl out from under a rock where water is dripping, and slide a bit on her bottom. She's laughing. She tries it again. More laughter. Her mother is laughing too. "That's the easy way" I say. I remember my first trip up, with the Girl Scout troop, and how I got down. An airplane passes. In the clearing, one of two black girls shouts: "Everybody! Tell her that's not a flying saucer!" "It is!" shouts the other girl. Snatches of conversation. Two women... "The thing is, she started to have an attitude problem with him..." The rock seems to briefly amplify voices, then muffle them. Mark, whenever you climb this mountain, bring your concealed tape recorder as well as the camera. The colors now are gray and black, except for a deep rose stripe above the trees. It is easier going down. The people with the black lab puppy pass me coming back. ("No domestic animals...") Others are still going up. What will they do up there in the dark? The edge of the barbecue shack at the bottom is lit with Christmas lights, but the wire lighted displays of Santa, reindeer, etc. are not. Too late in the season. Off duty. I don't mind. Postscript: I find spaghetti in the Village! While waiting for it, I start to jot. I have the intention to make a poem, inspired by the "in their own voices" poets cd set I got for Christmas. But just writing it is probably more than enough. If any of you want to take it further in that direction, be my guest. |
....and stone mountian ins't THAT BAD of a climb, of course, i was 10 when i did it and full of piss and vinegar..... have you gone to see the hootin and a hollerin they do at the laser show in the summer time? THATS a place and time for mark to bring his camera and tape recorder!!! |
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i hail from decatur patrick. as you probably know, it's not really atlanta and doesn't want to be. it's close enough. it would be fine with me if the laser shows and the rock bands and even the cable car and all the hoopla just packed up and left the mountain in peace. even the stupid carving. that's going to take a long time to wash out. it's not a bad climb. i did it at 10 too, in flip flops. Ñelly |
i grew up in Lilburn...i hate that place.....yeah, stone mtn is kinda obnoxious, silly, and well, i admire the carving, despite what it repesents, it's an interesting feat.... tell me is that bar in decatur square, shit what is it called.....?????.......ya know in downtown... still there? we used to go and throw some serious darts there....plus they had cheap pitchers..a big lesbian and decatur cop hang out.....also that coffee shop across from the marta station.........coffee time, bean...something something...... anyway the bar...once this guy was in there with a "russian bobcat" in his back pack.....he said he used to work for barnum and baily.....he indeed had a cat in his bag, a kitten and what was very strange was the cat DID in deed look and feel like a bob cat of some sort.....the jawline and overall face of this kitten were stone, rock hard, giving the impression the fella had a lot of growing up to do........weird place that decatur....i miss atl |
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seeing as this newsboard is kinda related to 'dangerous' sports- can any of you guys tell me the best place to go sky diving in America because a couple of friends and i are coming over next year and want to check out the diving over there!! so any advice would be appreciated ok thanks, bye Lxxxx |
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