Some time ago we decided with my boyfriend to go for a trip to the mountains. It was a perfect way to celebrate his birthday and spend some time together. The plan was to disconnect ourselves from the internet and all technological devices we have, get on the bus to Stefanova and climb Velky Rozsutec.
What we planned, we did. We packed, we arrived and we climbed the mountain. On the way, we got amazed with beautiful nature we saw. We admired the clouds floating on the sky, tickling tops of the trees growing on the hills’ slopes. We were speechlessly impressed by the mighty mountain, proudly rising above the villages. We were delighted with the magical valley leading down the stream, unviolated by the humans, covered with wildly growing trees and moss. And we were touched by the closeness of wild animals around us suspiciously observing every step we took.
When I looked from the peak, I was thinking how fragile humans are. Incredible how much we think of ourselves and how little we are, said 53R63Y on the way home.
I remembered Mr Ramsay thought than.
It is permissible even for a dying hero to think before he dies how men will speak of him hereafter. His fame lasts perhaps two thousand years. And what are two thousand years? (asked Mr Ramsay ironically, staring at the hedge). What, indeed, if you look from a mountain top down the long wastes of the ages? The very stone one kicks with one’s boot will outlast Shakespeare.*
What a weird feeling that even a nameless rock will outcast the greatest from our world…