Mountains and Massacres

I lean back,
chatting with
the mountain
bathed in
alpine sunshine.

‘The world feels as it should be here,’
I say.
‘I forget how horrible we can be
to each other.’

She asks what I mean.

I describe the two world wars
fought in her shadow,
dozens
of millions
of lives
lost.

She ponders.
‘An ant told me
a similar story
not too long ago.’

I shade my eyes,
looking up into her ancient face—
The mountain is not joking,
comparing human lives
to the lives of insects.

Mountains aren’t known
for their senses of humor

Silent once more,
we look out on the wind
whipping up the valley.

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