Bobbing Upwards

Back to Base Camp. Once again, soap for dinner (thank god for shallots!). Yeti seems listless, can't be provoked. What about those assholes from China, pounding in? I ask. Sheepish shrug, causing spindrift to tattle downslope, no iMax camera to see it. Who wouldn't get tired of soap three meals a day, but the Guinness seems fresh even now, after so much jostling and disrespectful carrying. Nepal's a mess, Tibet's a mess, given, I say to Yeti. But what about the stern breeze confronting us at the summit? I ask, probe. Our standing there, dangerous midnight upon that pinprick place, consults a breathless wonderment, as neat as a financial expert. I shouldn't have said horsehit like that. Yeti goes all wookie with a reasonable rage above the howl of the wind. But hey, I add with diversion, who would bring cherry flavoured Chapstick ® to the top of the world? That was one of the treasures we discovered, near the corpse or whoever it could have had, while we milked the moments above. Inside our tent we let awe surround its farm-fresh aroma. Essential esters smell, I added to the embodiment of the current what to say. Yeti smiled yeti smile, wistful like how poems are made into bestsellers. Provocative losses can be summed up, someday, when writing is needed. Visible traces of others remain, lucky to enhance. Birds that rummage even here for their life, light as the spray of snow in the jet stream. We're so human, Yeti and me, except Yeti, what's the real story there? I've never pried. We'll just obey resolutions and structure, composed for sea level but still implements in the higher parts of nowhere. Radio reports of more murder, in the name of an awesome economic seizure, in the plodding campaign towards the last dot a sentence can muster. Clatter of rotor blades, announce the maniacal helicopter to bring rescue. As if we signaled, could or would. Perhaps some army instrument, and gangs of monied explainers. We leave our shit and run to the chopper. Yeti never shy. Pilot looks like fear after a desperate rise to the top. We tell thankfulness towards him, in the essence of bending a flower. In a blinking we'll be healing, two more plain bumps in the bustle of Timbuktu. Oprah already has a call in, an indication of her greatness. Our greatness selects words.