The Glass Ceiling

The dizzying height of the mountain towered above her, dwarfing the skyscrapers that tried, and failed, to compete with its majesty. Her guides- handsome, dark men with wide smiles and quick bows now looked at her with new appreciation. She had already gone further than they thought she could. She knew she looked soft and delicate- like an American.

Born of America, she called no country home. Instead, she followed the call of adventure which offered her many interesting roads to travel. Hers was where the wild geese went, or where the storms played in the sky and despite all of that, this bastard of a mountain was going to beat her.

Following a simple meditation, she gathered her strength. It was now or never, the longer she stayed here the longer the mountain would sap her will with presence alone. Onward and upward, she pushed, until finally the thin air made continuing impossible.

Angry tears formed. “No! Never! I will go on! You can’t beat me!” She screamed her defiance.

The mountain was unmoved.

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