The first to walk my way? A family of mammoths, enjoying the sanctuary that the lee of my slopes offered. Many generations followed breaking the ground and forming a trail. Which would become a lifeline for thousands of years to come for those who followed them.
What ever the weather the flatten ledges allowed anyone travelling my way a degree of protection.
However over time those who traversed my slopes would change. I remember the first hunters. They would stop and check the vistas, being wary of the bears and packs of wolves. Sometimes I would catch them smiling at the swaths of flowers which adorned my flanks.
Later when autumn came and the leaves fell, then the panoramic vistas would really open out. But only the desperate came then; for tackling the mountains without shelter was fraught with danger.
Storms would sweep the leaves into swirling demonic shapes. Then came the snow, obliterating the trails. Yet spring always returns; and with each spring new travellers appear. However today they rarely seem to see walk my way. Preferring speed and being encased in automobiles. Long gone is my youthful wilderness. But for a few the leaves still offer magic.