The mountains

The sun is rising. A new day wearily roams its way over the sprawling countryside, shining its warmth upon the mountains. As the trees sway gently in the chill of the morning air, the soft melody of birds singing carries through my window as if to remind me of where I have found myself. God knows I might forget in this state of lucidity. I cannot be bothered with waking just yet; all else can wait.

I close my eyes and dream of the mountains. To be aloof and exempt from the pressures and conformity of sea level is freedom and paradise. The air smells of pine but feels as silk on my skin. The snow creates a beautiful silence; my senses are at last free to roam the state of my being. Man underestimates the power of calm.

I dream of a place where my thoughts are endless and I find my peace from above. Even as I awaken to taste the bitterness of my reality, I know that I will always have the freedom I crave, whenever I drift off to higher ground.

I close my eyes and dream of the mountains.