It’s November, and as I’m settling down to my reading load, my writing plans, my translation homework, my travelling to and fro between home and school, my shopping, cooking and socks-washing, ugh, I’m getting nostalgic about the Tatras. Not that I’m such a great mountaineer or something. I climbed only twice this year, first time in June and then in August. Both times it was cold, hot, rainy, sunny, stormy, beautiful and, overall, great. Mountain weather. I don’t miss that: if I was getting that in Kraków on a daily basis, I would go crazy. I miss something else, though…
Here’s proof that mountains can change a person to such an extent that they sit down after returning home and write something that’s so much not their style that they later have difficulty recognising it as their own. (“I actually wrote that? Nah, can’t be. I’m not sentimental. I’m not. I’m not. I am.”) At least that’s what happened when I wrote this little piece a day after reaching the summit of Świnica in a dense fog that prevented me and my sister from getting a view — but didn’t spoil the experience anyway.
To My Heart
Oh let us talk of quiet that we know,
that we can know, the deep and lovely quiet
of a strong heart at peace!
~ D. H. Lawrence
What is this heart that has woken up in my chest? Hello, sweet heart who doesn’t fear or tremble. With all my thoughts, I love and admire you.
Are you mine? Are you for real? How come you’re so tranquil? As I climb up, how do you know every step I should take in advance? You feel safe in me as I hold on to, lean on, and embrace these rocks.
I look down and wonder where the fear of falling is. It was with me only yesterday – it was with me always. And now that chances are I’ll fall, I trust the rocks and chains, and you, my heart. ‘Cause stunning as it is, you’re mine.
When I come back to the city, I probably won’t recognize you as such any longer. I’ll look back and vaguely think I’ve left my sweet brave heart in the mountains. It’ll still be here, and it will wander endlessly from top to top.