The air wasn’t still. It was heavy and leaden as if each molecule had given up any hope of ever seeing the sky. When the mountains pushed to the heavens they left a crevasse so deep that the last to breath this air was a precursor to the dinosaurs. The air was old. The air had lost memory of the sky. It was only when the mountains flexed did the air remember but that hadn’t happened in millennia.

It happened one day, or maybe a decade or longer perhaps. The mountains remembered the air that was cut off so – from all, and it decided to take action. To make a path for the air to rejoin the others. So it opened a glimmer of hope between peaks for the air to move. If it wanted to.

The air could feel the change and it was afraid. Stagnation over the millennia was safe, comfortable even. It was known. Beyond this door was the unknown of today with swirling currents of change. Of life. Of Death. Of things beyond comprehension to air as old as life itself. What could it be other than an anomaly or a freak to the air of today?
The air debated with itself. Unmoved but ready to seep into the void the mountains made for it. The mountains know what was on the other side of the crevasse, but also knew the air had no language to understand what awaited. It only hoped.

The crevasse air wasn’t conscious. It could not reason out what to do but it did understand. It has been given a choice. Choice separates actions. Choice is the catalyst of change. Choice is all. Whether or not air stayed or moved forward it was a choice it could live with.

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