Bushes look shriveled and trees dehydrated and sucked of life. Patches of slightly green tinted grass scream for at least a drip of water. The sweltering heat causes a quivering daze across the peak while the blue sky merges into a somewhat blended abstract work of art. The boiling sun bakes anything on the large brown mound of rocks and dirt. Trudging up in this smoldering temperature, the rocks grind on each other under my shoes. Having to wear the loosest light top and shorts possible and shoulders are exposed, the sun melting my skin.
I am now at the top, the slight cooling breath of air ripples through my clothes and brushes against the sweat beads on my back and forehead. So exhausted I sit down and inhale the heated oxygen, the feeling of it warming my parched throat down into my worn out lungs. The ground blisters my hands and there is a sensation of sharp bubbling pain gushes into sticky palms as I am trying to hold up my weight. Looking over at the lake it is level and with an intense enchanting glow from the cheerful smile of the sun’s radiant light and heat, making it look very inviting to the eye.
Shady dark clouds swirl over in a folded quilt pattern of blacks and greys, snow poured over coating the top half of the mountain. The shrubs and small trees are dusted with a light sugar coating. The air is dense with a thick odd cold draft breaking the still chillness causing lungs to feel clear and cold. Small snow filled clouds form around the bends and curves of the mountains body. Everything looks frozen and stopped in it’s track. The rocks feel joint and trapped under my feet, tall and short frosted grasses crack under my boots. The snow is appearing on the ground the higher I go, denser and thicker the soft white powder becomes more recent to the eye. Thermals and track pants covering every inch of my dry cracking skin from the pinching weather; mittens attempt of trapping any small amount of heat possible.
I get to the top and the breeze is strong, breaking into the little crevasses in my clothes identifying the cold tingle on the tip on my skin. Looking off the edge being ever so careful of my footing because of the frosted surface, I see into Wanaka. The timeless valley of crystallized houses below, the lake appears still, glass still with no breach of the peace. It has a silver icy sheen to it, a daunting look of chill.