There is a world which stands on the edge of time. A distance that is crossed only by transcendence. The far mountains call to me and I long for their story – the story they have told since the edge of everything became as sharp and focused as life. Beyond my sight there is a great adventure, eternal, mortal in the way we have come to perceive things. I may glimpse it when my spirits are low; when they stray, bleak and closed. The wind carries it to me: that far world. It is beyond wonderful; it is Truth I yearn to touch; to be held by the distant height above the pines. A scent and my heart lifts, running with the winds.
The sun is hot, searing my skin, but these winds are cool – cold and pure – they live within themselves, rushing against me to cool the sun’s heat. They blow from the place I see beyond the horizon. Of all the things nature offers, this is the greatest: this promise of adventure, eternal youth – it is linked to being alive.
For now I sit, head aching with human anxieties, which are suddenly so unimportant when the wind blows from the direction I cannot find the way to. There are no maps to guide me, save for the one imprinted on my soul.
