The Mountain

I sit on the mountain as the cool mist of the morning dawn surrounds my soul. The crisp clean smell of the dew as it drifts down from the sky to the leaves on the trees and gently falls to the grass below.

My eyes open and through the mist a pair of gold trimmed wings pierce the morning sunrise.  I reach out to touch the heart they carry so tenderly in their grasp.

As my finger tips touch I feel the heart break within.  I see the tear as it falls;  I hold my palm out to catch its pain as it drifts from its torn side.  It slips through my hand as a dewdrop through the clouds.

I know this heart; I feel its pain.  It is my heart; broken and battered, beaten down by that which I thought would be my love, the one that opened my soul to the wonders of the mountains.

The one love I could never have.  The words he would not speak, the love he could not give. The tears fall from my eyes mixing with the dew.  The mountain surrounds me, cradling me in its massive power but the clouds know the mountain cannot heal me.

I must go, leave the mountain.   Find the peace my heart and soul need.   The clouds gently lift me, caressing me as they carry me down the mountain.  As my feet touch the tender grasses wet with my tears and dew from above,

The cloud whispers, " Go heal and when your heart can love again the mountain will be here; Waiting."  Through the mist the cloud drifted back to its mountain peak.  I slowly walked through the meadow alone to begin my new life without him.