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The Reluctant healer – William J Macmillan

 One afternoon we decided to walk up to the next hamlet, which was situated on the edge of a glacier. The approach was along a narrow path cut out of the side of the mountain. On the other side a sheer drop of many feet ended in a turbulent boulder-strewn brook. The sun was hot and there was not a breath of wind. The clarity of the air made distance seem an illusion of the senses. Suddenly, some unseen force jerked me to a standstill. I called out to Sally Anne, who was a few strides ahead of me. She retraced her steps. To cover my confusion I offered her a cigarette. While I lighted both of ours I tried to discover why I was so firmly rooted to the spot on which we were standing and why I knew through every nerve in my body we were in great danger. There were no trees where we stood. The mountain-side curved steeply above our heads.

There was a stillness which the noise of the brook below seemed to accentuate. Suddenly this was broken by a low rumble which rapidly increased to a deafening roar of sound. Immediately in front of us for several hundred yards the side of the mountain swept by, rushing into the valley below. Enormous boulders floated like corks on a torrent of swiftly flowing earth.

It was stupendous and horrifying.  In the space of a few minutes the entire mountain side changed its contour.

To be near death must be always I think an awesome experience.  Two feet had separated us from this natural convulsion