Olea Corcoran

The world has many edges, and it's easy to fall off.


To the mountains in the distance,

Do you ever get nervous when you see the stormclouds approaching? Do you remember the last time you had to bear snow, and tremble?

When the spring winds blow through your valleys, do they sigh with relief? Or do they sing a song of longing for the days that are now past, until the summer heat is gone and autumn fades once more?

Or are you so firm and settled that the seasons linger or rush past, seen but not studied, marked but not minded?

I am not as steadfast as a mountain, and the seasons touch and move me. The winds blow me about, the sun warms my skin, the snow reaches its cold fingers deep inside. Sometimes it's overwhelming, but I like to let these things affect me. I hope that even though you're very large and very old, they still touch and move you too.