WHAT IS IT that brings me here, this mountain top that looks upon the life unfurling in green trees and orange hills? They make their way to the steel blue sea, all cloaked in mystery, behind the veil of early morning mist.

I look upon this great land, where from up here time slows and walks, before the rising of the sun, an ancient sign that the day’s begun. Why do I feel hesitant to step down from this mountain?

To face the world below? An empty sky makes way for empty space; down here, we’re all just looking for our place —  that’ll take us in and remove the weight placed on us from the starting gate; through stories told I seek my fate, perhaps it’s buried in the pages.

Is it me, here, now? I’ve scoured through the ages, and feel myself lose track of time — time, strewn out and empty like the sky, not wanting to waste it, I follow the answers in the misty morning blue.

But why? What is waste when moving towards a future in disrepair, what is waste if we never stop to drink the air, who are we to say what’s wasted; from here, time seems to slow and walk.

From here, return to nature, silence, save the smooth embrace of wind and the drizzle of the night, the chirping of a little bird that moves between me and and the far-away sea. And then it goes; off into the blue morning mist.

To watch a bird revel in the art of flight brings a sense of simplicity. Sometimes, I need it, a brief respite from daily living. Life might be effortless as a bird.

We listen to their songs, their outward show of beauty; we watch them fly above the clouds and then gently float beneath as the clouds bloom and open, dissipate, and fade into thin air.

A bird might soar high towards the sun, or it may fall low, grazing the crest of the sea; surely there’s a joy found in the art of flight — but then what?

Does a bird know what it feels like to be knocked down only to one day get back up, stronger than before? Does a bird know what’s it’s like to fall in love, or watch something that was once an idea start to unfold?

Being human means we have a choice — to live and seek what makes this life worthwhile; yet perhaps that’s letting go and soaring, or singing a simple song of joy at the start of every morning.