Everything is completely white in front of me. Subtle nuances appear and fade, wind and snow are doing a brutal dance. I feel the frozen sweat all over my skin. I’ve never felt this cold before. The storm is hitting my face with a million tiny sharp slaps, but I can barely move. My gear is long gone, I lost all the climbers.
I’m in disarray, but strangely calm at the same time.
In the midst of this tempest and under the pressure of heavy eyelids, I felt all hope slowly fading. I almost let my eyelids close. And as they approach darkness, I saw someone in the distance. Is this real?
It’s a child with quite wobbly legs. He seems to struggle with the power over his body in deep snow. He runs and falls, gets up, runs and then falls again. He looks merry. Is this me?
As if my consciousness somehow started switching between bodies. I ran, stumbled and fell, and suddenly came across a flower. Out of nowhere, a purple, beautiful flower in the snow; color – in all this whiteness! Warmness, in this cold. I picked it gently and admired it in my hands for a while.
In the ice ages of my life, I’ve always seemed to find an unexpected crocus.
The storm worsened and the cold became unbearable.
‘Mom!’ the mountain echoed, and the wind followed the voice back, carrying the storm. I rushed to my mother, with a smile and a flower in my hands, somewhere into the unknown. I felt hopeful and finally warm, as my eyes closed and the storm came to a pinnacle.