When we write
Particularly about nature
The mountain
The wind
The flower
Most of time the words feels distant
No matter what techniques we use
We’re never there yet
It feels not enough
To deliver what it is
That we’re no more than observers
That the beautiful things we love is not talking to us
That they don’t see us as the way we feel about them
But I guess if you live in a mountain for a short while
Not until you really get it
To
Put away your thoughts
Open you senses
Take in the freshness
the flower, the wind, the mountain
All the picturesque thingy in front of you
will start to speak for itself
And you could finally hear them
The whisper, the singing, the rhythm
That you’re a channel they pass through
A passenger carrying their message
A dandelion spreading its seeds
They would tell you how they look like, smell like, touch like and feel like
Because in that moment
When they start to talk
Nothing else matters
you are not you
no longer exist
Not any more
You become one of them
Dance naturally to the greens
filled by the emptiness
And eternalized the moment
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