First Place:

At the Top of the World

By Robert Burns

Where the top of the world meets the sky, snowy crystalline mist takes wing, reflecting rainbow prisms of color into the clearest cobalt blue ever seen. This is where God speaks to climbers for the first—sometimes last—time.

Aaron lay in fetal position, watching the sun set through horizontal eyes, as celestial streets of fire reflected off distant slopes. He didn’t hurt anymore.

It was Emily’s voice—not God’s—that beckoned him home, though. They stood in warm golden sand, gentle sea breeze caressing their faces. She tossed Aaron the beach ball, spinning red and yellow and cobalt blue.

Second Place:

Iroquois Mountain

By Wendy Markel

We frolicked like cubs on snowy winter days; warmed our backs under the last of the sun's rays glowing from the icy crests; called the Blue Ridge home. Then the wagons came, with the Long Knives from the east; white men buying our hunting ground with their lies. 

Now, while I have strength, I dig at the crumbling mountain dirt, to bury my people; hurl rocks at carrion crows picking at worms while they wait. I throw my head back and howl, the ululating cry echoing through pinewoods like a lonesome she-wolf.

Third Place (Tied):

Mt. Arbel’s Shadows

By Ann Struck

Ham and I passed fragrant jujube trees on our approach to Mt. Arbel. Its cliff cast ancient shadows of Hellenistic battles, and Christ’s Great Commission. I was Ham's disciple, and he’d commissioned me to climb.

Halfway up, we scrabbled into a cave, where Jews had hidden from marauding Romans.

Ham huffed, forcing me into a hands-and-knees position. My palms bled. I reared like a stallion. Ham’s head struck a stalactite. He stumbled out of the cave’s mouth and tumbled over the cliffside.

I scrambled from the cavern and summited Mt. Arbel—its shadows dissolving into the blue Sea of Galilee.

Third Place (Tied):

Rapunzel Smoking

By Sonia Haddad

The view from the front balcony is the sea, a flat horizon she stares at when the lights of the fishing boats appear; it’s time to light the vape against mosquitoes. From the back balcony, the tip of Mount Sannine where the bottled water comes from, rises. Their mountain is Keserwan, sloping downwards to the crescent of Jounieh. I’ll take you to paradise, he said. But, like Rapunzel, she’s stuck, waiting to escape. The mosquitoes start their angry blood search, she lights an LM cigarette. From her perch, she daydreams, smokes, prays to the mountain god to let her go.

Third Place (Tied):

A Lick of Pride

By Maddie Logemann

They warned us, in valley-accented tongue, that our Devil flirted with the mountainside. They knew little of faith. The peaks brushed Heaven; His venerable hands would shield us.

We brought God in crosses and holy books, humanity in iron pots and hewn logs. There was nothing to fear for good men and women.

Summer saw golden wheat shoot up and dry for harvest, a cultivated blessing. We knew the Devil, then, in his devious lick of silver-white tongue, thunderous laugh brewing the storm.

Indifferent to prayer, flame desecrated our Bibles and crosses. Deadly sin tasted much like ash and smoke.

Third Place (Tied):

Meeting Mama’s People: A Harrowing Midnight Journey

By Lisa H. Owens

Lila’s stomach lurched. The overcrowded Buick rounded increasingly narrow curves on the perilous road to Roan Mountain, where she'd finally meet the Appalachian relatives. Their antics, often results of the neighbors’ moonshine, were legendary. 

She craved sleep, but flinched at Aunt Joyce’s ear-piercing, “Dubya-T!” whenever Uncle W.T. periodically catnapped while driving, two balding tires tight-roping the ridgeline.

Between shrieks, half of Lila's brain dreamed—Aunt Minnie, clutching a bedraggled tomcat, and Uncle Clifford’s aw-shucks grin playing like a glitchy film—while the other half anticipated the moment exhausted Aunt Joyce would drift-off and they’d all careen into the gulch below.