Here, the world is different. Different to the world below, a world of buildings and traffic and technology. A world of noise and pollution, violence and chaos. Here, the world is quiet. The world is ancient and unchanged. Here, the mountains stand proud, older than humanity, and will remain long after humanity has had its time.
This world is magical and mystical, in its splendour and solitude. Humanity seems displaced here, so far removed and advanced from this world that once was. This is not our land, not our home – this belongs to the earth, to the wild. We are mere visitors, admiring briefly, before returning to the safer, known lands from whence we came. We are intruders to this lost landscape.
This world is magnificent. Impossible tall and narrow peaks erupt from the canyons, dwarfing the trees that grow amongst their feet. They are clothed in green, garments of leaves and vines clinging to their sheer sides, rocky outcrops peeking out through the covering. Their heads are dusted in clouds, soft swirls obscuring their faces, and bringing that sense of mystery to the land.
This world is still and silent, too daring and unknowable for most creatures. It’s easier to picture creatures of prehistoric times, or from myths and legends, soaring and diving between the peaks, or scaling their unforgiving faces, their shrieks and calls echoing through the canyons.
This world is mysterious and wild and beautiful. The mountains are guardians, emperors, gods. They are unmoving and impossibly old, yet they feel alive. This world is still, yet it feels connected to the earth and to the universe. There is a sense of spirit and soul here, giving this world its mystique that we can feel, yet never fully understand. We humans can conjure up images of mountains and clouds and nature in our minds, but we cannot create this atmosphere and the feelings it arouses. This world is so much older, larger and grander than we are, it is so much more.