You had me at your aphoristic title 'This summit is made of mist', Daniel.
A poem for the initiated, who have experienced this placeless place where words and self cannot reach - a mystical state that cannot be earned, but is mysteriously granted. I think by association of two quotations, one by Nietzsche:
“It is the stillest words that bring on the storm. Thoughts that come on doves' feet guide the world."
Another by Yeats:
“We can make our minds so like still water that beings gather about us that they may see, it may be, their own images, and so live for a moment with a clearer, perhaps even with a fiercer life because of our quiet.”
Thank you, for sharing your stillest words with us alongside exquisite art, as a reminder that this region of the soul & human possibility is ours, too.
To aspire to this capital of spiritual riches precludes violence in thought, words and deep... which is why we must, at least, try to get there.
Carry on walking in Beauty, and have a blessed day, pilgrim _/|_