Georgia pp 39-44 | Cite as

The mountain

  • Peter Nasmyth

Abstract

The following evening I sat alone on the first floor balcony watching the sun slide away to the west beneath Mt Kazbek. The town before me seemed ravaged by beauty and decay at one and the same time. Furthermore, up here in the High Caucasus there existed a quality of light I’d never seen before. A translucent, airy emerald in the grass that seemed to penetrate everything; the rock, the sky, one’s thoughts. In the face of so much snowy splendour, so much infinity right before one’s eyes, what did the smaller things in life (like work) matter?

Keywords

Burning Clay Steam 

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Copyright information

© Peter Nasmyth 1998

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  • Peter Nasmyth

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