Thanks to gizgad for the photograph.
When I close my eyes fog fades fast. Revealing the subtle hills and paths well trod by kings and peasants. Strong oaks hold lands in stillness. Stopping it from quickly moving down to valleys below; filling slopes to a flat sameness. In the redwoods stories silently sound out eons of joy and strife rolled and romped together creating tragic awe before calming for a perfect moment. When the fog cleared in the morning sun, dew glistening on a new world. On yet untold tales. I breathed in deep for what must be my first true breath.
A gust buries the sunshines’ warmth as chilled, the clouds roll violently in. Covering beauty with a shadow of unforgiving passivity. Gray worlds imposed over the vibrance of one that feels somehow lost before me. Fingertips grasp memories and hear the stories passed out, pleaded by the trees. Gushing through the branches the forests prose is broken with howling temptations brushing aside the fires of immortality that exist here.
Instead the infandous appears before me draining all with sinister flames licking at the world and reaching for its origins high. Thrown down it was- heavens retribution full of honor and hate striking out at a world that moved too slowly. Change occurs gradually no more. The montivagant tales cease to be told. A broken plain tattered and berated by enantiodromia spread softly on plumes of ash across time, reaching out as warning of other worlds that the sun may bring beauty to by moments end and the clouds may take it away.