The mountain’s steep, rocky back posed no problem for him.
Smiling broadly, he leapt from one uneven outcrop to the next, which lay a foot above his head. When he landed, a loud grinding sound spit out white dust. Always accommodating, the rocks shifted, so as to let him end up somewhere flat. Not that he needed it; he was nimble enough without their assistance.
Glancing over the ridge he had just climbed, he followed the twisted path, cut across with hundreds of fissures and serrated edges. He knelt and patted the still warm ground. Maybe just this once it was good to have some help. The stone rumbled beneath his fingers in agreement.
15 March 2015 | 114 wds | Taking it literally. Also, nostalgia! (And edited)