I dreamt the mountain was listening

I was standing at the ridge, not climbing, just waiting. The air was so still it felt like the silence had weight—like it could press down on your shoulders if you didn’t move. And then I realized: the mountain wasn’t silent. It was holding its breath, listening to me. Not in a way that scared me, but like someone who’s known you for years and hasn’t said a word yet. I didn’t speak either. Just stood there, feeling how the cold of my gloves matched the cold of the rock beneath my boots. When I woke, my hands were still clenched around nothing.