From here the view is beautiful. Every day the sun sets over the mountains. Hues of every pigment painted like a perfect Bob Ross classic. Everyday it rises in the east. It’s stunning golden glory blazes in the windows and nearly blinds you. It’s...it’s just so admirable and unmatched.
I used to stare over the land and see happy faces, ribbons flicked and whipped by the wind, forsythia like fireworks, glades of grass growing before our eyes at the speed of a newborn’s growth. Yes, I used to lay in the pools and drift the summer away as I watched the sparrows dart and dive like synchronized swimmers. I saw the complete perfection in this place. It was admirable and unmatched.
Once I ran through the woods here, barefoot, giddy like I had just been granted the opportunity to fly. I couldn’t fly, obviously, but I felt like I could. If you looked to the woods you’d see flashes of my billowing white skirt trailing behind me. I was looking for a gift. When I saw it, the mere vision of it screamed “TAKE ME!” I gouged the roots out and carried a baby tree back with me. It was a beautiful gift for this land. It was admirable and unmatched.
Now I stand here high up, way, way high up. I’ve spent my days here. My nights. I have cared for and poured love into this visage of perfection that I knew. That I thought I knew. I don’t know this place. I trusted this place. In the time I’ve spent here the vision of perfection has all come crashing down to sadness, misconception and loneliness. Pain aches and churns and emotions run rampant in my gut. I have seen winds carry high knots up here on the mountain, flinging limbs and debris at unexpecting hosts. I have seen feline friends chew the heads off too-slow finches only looking to fill their empty bellies. I have seen snow storms devastate this land and forcefully put it to sleep. I don’t know this place. I thought it was admirable and unmatched, but now all I can see is this land for the trueness that it is. Disappointing and ordinary.
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