I'm taking a lot of liberty:
"Almost there," I said to myself, peering up at the misty summit some thirty yards ahead. The trek up this mountain had been a strange one that I would likely remember forever. Even now, the steps I took led me through thoughts and opinions in many voices, their sounds distant echoes in time. For this mountain, in a way, was time itself.
I crested the trail, surveying the misty sky and cliffs from the highest point in the area. I chuckled. "I'm not sure whether it's the journey or the end that's the reward this time," I said to myself, as I often did when alone. But I wasn't alone.
Instinctively, I took a step back. Sitting casually on a rock, a book in his hands, was a middle-aged man. He had a healthy beard and wore a black leather jacket, giving an edge to his otherwise genial appearance. His dark eyes scanned the book he held with one hand, then stopped. He gazed up at me.
"So, you made it at last?"
"I've made it to the top," I said, noting that his was a question, not a statement.
"How was the journey?" he asked as his eyes rested upon the page again.
I searched for an adequate word, but only came up with, "incredible."
He considered that for a moment as he took in the view from the mountain top with obvious familiarity. "What are you going to do now?"
"Well," I said, "if I'm correct, the past is back that way--" I indicated the trail behind me, "--so the future must be the other side."
"Do you think it's all downhill from here?" he asked, meeting my eyes again.
"I think there's another fine looking mountain ahead."
He smiled, and nodded. "Off you go, then."
I returned his nod, and set off. As I passed him, I stopped. "Uncle Jim," I said heavily.
He looked up again, "Yes?"
"Thanks."
He smiled again, and I set off down the other side of the mountain.