Find the prompt here:
Not to scale. Not to scale. There's a sign on that mountain that says "Not to scale." Don't scale that mountain. It doesn't like it. That's a pondering mountain. You can lumber, you can plod, you can mosey, you can dilly-dally your way up it, but don't scale it. Mountains want you. For as long as you can stand it and beyond. The mountain will eat you if you're not prepared and it's a good way to die, if you are prepared. The flowers in the forest will overtake your body and you will become one with the earth, except for your bones, those will hang about and maybe take off one by one. Someone may find your skull and it'll wind up on a desk somewhere. The writer will look at your skull and bore their eyes into the empty sockets until they fall in and your skull becomes the mountain that they cannot scale. Do you want to be a mountain? If you could be one in skull alone, it would be an arid place, a cold place, so perhaps it is better to become one with the mountain and hope your skull gets buried somewhere by a wolf who will gnaw on it another time, when meat has become scarce and even hard to reach calcium is better than nothing. If any flower could grow from you, you would choose crocus. Crocus even in the middle of the desert where crocus does not bloom.