Visitor

A memory from those windy mountain roads.

I grew up in those mountains. I am as much a part of them as the trees, and I carry their peace and their lessons with me every where I go. Many are drawn to them, but there I was born. I spent my childhood wandering heights at day and boughs at night. You are just a visitor. To you it is quant, a foreign thing to stare. But to me its familiar gaze brings a happy soothe that few can know. When I was young all I wanted was to get away, oh lonely mountains, and see the world. Now that I have I long for the quiet of the woods. The gentle warmth of the sun upon my soul as a cold breeze bites at my heart. There is peace in the forest, and a Spirit which is always there if you know where to look. Up there is where I come from, and up there will always be my home.

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