I walk the line of a stranger, every day I have walked the Earth it has been nothing but a mystory. The trees whisper their songs of sorrow and days of joy. Their spring of rage and guilt sways like a snake through the never ending path. The mountain's peak looks as deadly as a knife's edge, but to others it seems harmlessly and utterly defenseless. The sun shines upon its snowy tip as the night's eye makes it shimmer. I have never seen the mountain up close, but from afar. Mother says a lady should never gaze upon its ungodly hight. Yet I think differently than others, and often dream of touching the snow tipped mountain.
I too and defenseless against the stories the trees and animals have to tell. I sit and listen like a stary eyed little child would listen to his or her grandpa tell stories of old. Their stories always leave me sitting in the tall green grass as the next one begins their tale. They say the stars tell the biggest story of all, and all the history of the world can be read if one reads with a close eye. The stars have their story as i have mine, but mine may be harder to tell. I listen to the animals tell their stories with ease, but for some reason I can never seem to find the words to tell mine.