Smell of the Mountain

It’s an hour to midnight

The gong strikes and cuckoo sings

He is typing vehemently on his laptop

When a message pings


His friend is back from a trek

And awaits below the building

To return the backpack and bottle

He runs down the wing


An hour of discussion

He gets the fill of the adventure

His eyes rove as his friend enacts

The key things right from departure.


He returns back to his laptop

And glances at the work pending

I need some coffee, he figures

To help with the work unending


He goes to the kitchen

And takes the bottle inside

Only to open it

And be taken on a joyride


For the bottle emits

The smell of the mountain

Fresh. Nostalgic. Petrichor.

He whiffs again to ascertain.


Indeed the bottle smells

Of stories of adventures

Of sweat and success

Of off the road ventures


His mind nerves recreate

The feeling of being on a trek

He is standing on the mountain

With hard sun behind his neck


The view gets his guard down

For nothing but humility can throng

He relives the magnitude of nature

And the feeling of being strong.


He has smelled the mountain now

There is no more holding back

He needs to pack his backpack

And set off on a new track.


He sips the hot coffee

Browsing for upcoming treks

For The Mountains Are Calling

And He Should Go!!!

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