October 14, 2006

On a brisk autumn morning, get into your car and drive to the foot of a nearby mountain. Like most mountains in the modern world, this one too should be domesticated: ski trails should snail their way towards the sky; grass should replace forests; and hikers, not hermits, should populate the landscape.

Get out of the car and look around you, eyes moist with nostalgia. On the slopes, the leaves of the few remaining trees are turning colour and everything smells like decay and a fresh pair of underwear. Walk around the base of the mountain until you find a friend. That’s by far the easiest way to climb a mountain.

“The grass is wet this morning,” say. “And I need coffee.”

But all the worldly worries about wet shoes and lack of sleep should melt from your bones as you climb to higher altitudes, your head swirling in the air. Eventually, you’ll be able to touch the clouds.

And then, there’s only one thing you can do. Take off your clothes and run around the mountaintop shouting wildly: “Look! Look! I see suburbs of joy everywhere!”

Your friend will look at you in wonder and take pictures that will find their way on the internet. That’s what you get for taking off your clothes on top of a mountain.