My Freedom 

On top of a munroe
Gale force winds
I stumble from the force
Red scarf-tussles slash into my face

My breath ripped away
Brightly coloured blurs stagger downhill
Leaning against the gusts
‘It’s a bit windy up top’

I caught only snippets
‘No kidding’, you laugh.
Crouching against the breezy punches
I can see the summit

We stumble to the base of the cross
‘Kneel or be pushed over!’
The storm roars
Breathing almost impossible

My freedom on top of the munroe
My freedom at gunpoint of the gale
I get up and tumble another twenty yards
Holding onto the granite pillar with both hands
Viewpoint my ass; I think crouching.

There is nothing
But my freedom to be
Just to be in this moment
The winds roars, and tosses a handful of scattered snowflakes my way

‘When you are out in the hills you are always alone, even with people.’ You observe.

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