Mettle

I get so tired living on the edge of doubt, pessimism, self-loathing. It's one thing to sit back and sneer at the world. It's not nice, but for the person doing it there is some measure of comfort. A psychologist would tell him he's compensating for an insecurity. But who cares, most of us aren't psychologists. On the other hand, it's much different when the one you're sneering at is you. No shrink needed for this one; You feel the thorns of that cruelty every day dig into your flesh, depriving you of peace. Making sure everything you do ends in failure.

Meanwhile, water still trickles over the granite bones of the mountain, building to a white cascade. Trees still curl their toes in their favorite soil. Water vapor still rises from the lake. Ducks still rear their young, returning to this spot every spring. Clouds still pile snow over the dead bodies, and flowers replace them. The hungry solitary wolf still roams the peaks beneath the moon, trying to find his way, and all about him the crisp morning air is full of noisy silence.