Mountains : A Home to My Soul

Home. A center to hold on, a center where your heart can rest.

 Home. Something that tirelessly holds you, your dreams and passions, your light and darkness, your emptiness and substance. 

Home. And I found mine in the mountains, as they are carved on my soul.

They run in my veins, chisel and wither them, like a ship floating aimlessly across the broad sea. They are ever present in the cervices of my existence - in all the still and silent space. Between thinking. Between breathing.

The air I breathe, is the air flowing through the entanglement of the branches of a sea of forests in which all seasons resides. A place where time forgot to enwrap.

This home to me is like fragrance of rain soaked and which fills my lungs to their fill. A special odour of knowledge and emotions that for all ages have been calmly resting between covers.

They tear the sky in half like ocean waves returning to a desolated shore.

They are nothing more to me than a visual representation of symphony of the universe, almost celestial and surreal.

You can see the warmth of home in four walls, in two brown eyes, in me and you dancing in the rain at 12 a.m. It can be stumbling upon a familiar voice in the distant land, in smiles glimmering with hopes of a better tomorrow, in a longing for something lost in a lifetime ago, in the smell of Earth and sunshine, in journeys which of both take outside and within a quite hush of - “ I'll take care of you. ”

Either it's you discovering or it discovers you. But for me, home will always be the mountains, as the mountains are carved on my soul.