posted
(As a result of discussions in other threads, I have decided to post six openings to stories of mine. Two of these sold to the first market they went to; two sold after garnering rejections; two remain unsold).
There is a mountain, where no wind blows. There is no mountain. There is no map which shows it, delineated with perfect brush strokes. There is no road that you can walk to reach it. There is no vantage point, upon which you can stand, and point to its perfect symmetry. But there is a mountain. Its southern slopes are warmed by a gentle light, and the scent of jasmine rises from the very soil. There are pleasant gardens there, and lakes whose surface is a perfect mirror of the ghostly aspens that grow upon the opposite shore. It is the Silent Mountain; it is the place where the honored dead walk, so long as they are remembered.
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