On top of the green, infinite mountains
stands a man no older than eternity,
talking to nature as the soft whispers
of the wind echo in his ears:
telling him of a time before man,
when nature ruled in harmony around the globe.
“Whose law were you under, oh wise one?”
asked the man through the voice of whispers.
No response resounded in his ear this time;
and so, he asked again, only louder.
The wind stood still, just as the innocent clouds above.
Annoyed by the mountains he shouted:
“Tell me, whose law were you under,
oh, living breath of the wild!”
The wind did not respond, but the innocent clouds
started weeping gently onto the mountain,
drenching the blades of grass, which now
bowed down, as if to please the gentle sky.
Unsatisfied and now soaking wet, the man
decided to build a fire to stay warm
and protect himself from the storm about to come.
He furiously cut down a tree and built
a small fire underneath an overhanging cliff.
The rain roared even louder now,
and the blades of grass danced to the tune of the drops,
as they fell from the heavens and dove deep into the soil.
Not pleased with the lack of obedience
the wind had shown, he sat around the fire
getting sleepier and sleepier until the sun burnt out,
and the man fell gently into the deep illusions
which dreams bring about a mortal soul.
