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Stories

The climb

The mountain appeared in front of me

I worried about the climb

It was a rocky and rough path.

The unknown around every corner

Cliffs and drop-offs just out of sight

The lonely path wound through weeds and bushes

I saw no one

I knew the danger was out there

I climbed alone, with no other option

I worried

A fog descended and I knew I should call out

But still I climbed

I rested when I needed

I climbed more and the path seemed smoother

I looked forward, the ground seemed less steep

The fog parted

The beautiful view showed that my mountain had been a steep hill

Next to me were those who cheered me on that I could not hear

Sometimes our mountains are steep hills

And we are rarely alone

We can heal and thrive

We can conquer the mountain, whatever it’s name.

Photo credit: Andrea Ledda