Climbing, head bowed in effort, legs churn to crest the apex only to find still another desolate rise taunting the familiar.
“The bear went over the mountain; the bear went over the mountain…” A child’s tedium sing-songs as timeless remnant, nestling in the brain, slowly seeding aged apprehension.
There is no need to strain tired eyes, to look beyond. It’s all okay.
“The bear went over the mountain, to see what he could see…” Louder now; a mocking chorus of Teddies seducing the body to believe.
Legs slowly go into motion, breaking the stasis of logic.
“He saw another mountain, he saw another mountain, he saw another mountain, and what do you think he did?” A strained chuckle escapes pursed lips, tempting infinity’s wrath.
The child’s voice fades as a tip to fate’s wanton hand, swapped for empty calm, the perfect irony of balm for the old soul.