String Theory

Peter Matthiessen narrates our ascent up a steep mountain covered in ice. Those ahead climb in tennis shoes and yesterday’s clothes. All are old, silent, indifferent to the conditions and move like cats. The first to reach the top tosses the ball of string he is carrying off the side into the clouds, holding the line between two fingers until feeling it unwind and letting go. He is followed by another. I wake up lost in Los Angeles too many years later to remember anything the narrator says.