[give him a moment, he's never had to explain mountains before]
Have you seen the rocky cliff on which the lighthouse once stood? Even in the darkness it still has a looming quality, part of it may have crumbled away but most of it still endures. Now imagine that quantity of rock...bigger. Reaching to the sky, so high that you could travel away from it for days and still see it rising above the horizon no matter how far away you go. Its feet are so deeply rooted in the earth, its bulk so massive that you can almost sense its age, its permanence, its durability and eternity.
[he pauses as if to let her grasp a hold of that much before he goes on. The poet in him is already out to shine]
And then imagine a chain of them stretching as far as the eye can see, horizon to horizon, the peaks maybe not all the same size but clearly massive, jagged, so tall that their tops are wreathed in the clouds and wrapped in cloaks of snow. [there's enough snow outside, anyone can understand snow] That is what I mean by mountains. They are hardly impenetrable but the journey to try to cross them is arduous and can lead many unprepared venturers straight into death. Thus, they make a fine border for my kingdom.
[now that he's rhapsodized about mountains, he can address her own tale, which is rather interesting to be sure. Prehistoric is right.]
Hm. I'm not sure either, but there is something appealing about a common thread that binds us, even if it only shows after we die. Something to connect us across both time and space...it is warm and wistful, if it's true. We are not all so unalike after all.
no subject
Have you seen the rocky cliff on which the lighthouse once stood? Even in the darkness it still has a looming quality, part of it may have crumbled away but most of it still endures. Now imagine that quantity of rock...bigger. Reaching to the sky, so high that you could travel away from it for days and still see it rising above the horizon no matter how far away you go. Its feet are so deeply rooted in the earth, its bulk so massive that you can almost sense its age, its permanence, its durability and eternity.
[he pauses as if to let her grasp a hold of that much before he goes on. The poet in him is already out to shine]
And then imagine a chain of them stretching as far as the eye can see, horizon to horizon, the peaks maybe not all the same size but clearly massive, jagged, so tall that their tops are wreathed in the clouds and wrapped in cloaks of snow. [there's enough snow outside, anyone can understand snow] That is what I mean by mountains. They are hardly impenetrable but the journey to try to cross them is arduous and can lead many unprepared venturers straight into death. Thus, they make a fine border for my kingdom.
[now that he's rhapsodized about mountains, he can address her own tale, which is rather interesting to be sure. Prehistoric is right.]
Hm. I'm not sure either, but there is something appealing about a common thread that binds us, even if it only shows after we die. Something to connect us across both time and space...it is warm and wistful, if it's true. We are not all so unalike after all.