As I saw the Mountain Range,
I heard the wind call.
It spoke to the many trees
Cradling the leaves that fall.
I observed the conversa-
Come again?
No, I rather not discuss that.
No, I rather not discuss the moments of past.
The sun seemed to withdraw its arms leaving the night in charge of handling the Mountains, the trees, me.
An echo of howls tore into the night,
repetition of whispers circulating on the lips of the wind
Caught my covered ears.
I shouldn't have come to the Mountain Range.
It's an endless echo the wind carries on it's lips.
I need to leave.