Sanity and the cold wind brush against his skin
As gusts of common sense harshly dry out his eyes.
His feet, firmly placed on the edge of the cliff, flirt with frost bite.
Howling into the wilderness, his echo pauses
Before reeling back to taunt him and slap him across the face.
The animals are silent to his tortured wails,
To his lonely laments about being misunderstood.
They only hear the high octave of his echo,
And run for cover amidst the canopy of weary redwoods.
He pours his heart out on that ledge,
Unleashing his insecurities and regrets to the indifferent world.
As his echos come back and caress his red, restless face
His surroundings begin to dance and swirl together,
Creating a new kind of understanding,
A new form of exceptence,
Of peace.
His howl sounds out into nothingness,
Booming its vibrating echo between the trees and birds and streams.