Then my memoirs become important.
Then mountain had time. Did I have connection?
Excellent English Sherpa and Tundra Sherpa, around the fire (it looks like fire, anyway) that saves us. And we separately dream of that cold and frank discussion, such mountain. We survived the glum planning stage and wink, Paris Hilton hit the top. The image of all Paris Hiltons struggles beyond our encampment, into the very night we left safely. Excellent English laughs at fact tossed lightly. Tundra quieter has time to watch the fire. I'm writing the memoir of my voice, with a little tell of Sherpa. But am I as distant as that Paris Hilton smile (payable on the first of the month)? Am I free of falling down? Trust in the gravity of saying exactly what the memoir says. Slightly cheated maybe by wishing to hold on...
death has never been perfect. Mallory's body looks almost fresh and a little distressed. You would too, lingering as you do.
