Refuge in the mountains

I’ve seen the world. I’ve loved and hated much of it. Its absurdities, its beauties. Its truths and its lies.

And I can handle it. I can handle that manmade jungle. I can deal with it. It doesn’t scare me. Perhaps saddens, yes.

But to be saddened, to feel is to be alive. For what is life without a tear? Without a holding back of that telling breath that causes others to wonder if you’re ok? The woman? The kid?

The world is vast and so are its sorrows. And comfort I can find in many cities, many lands, but in these highlands I can find refuge.

Where the stag grazes, in a blink of a moment, here I am safe. Here all that can go wrong means little, for here echo my footsteps. Here the flag fits in my pocket.

Here the cows look timeless and I see myself looking backwards forwards, knowing that the mountains move, these mountains fall and even if one day on me, here my heart beats beyond time, beyond memory and for but a moment I can raise my hand from my sword.

I can drink from the stream without looking up. I can hear the growl and not look back. And I can feel the breeze and not get goosebumps.

For here is where it began and here’s where it continues. And here my son says I want to be with you.