For the memory; beginning with a vagueism, the thought of somewhere cool, a breeze of slight, but sunny between mountains spaced so far apart to haze. High enough to feel atmospherical changes, rarefied and dressed so warmly, but not so out of contact with the environment, faces bare, and hands forever same. Yet in this form it matters not.
With a long glance, travelling the view, in all directions, forgetting for an extended moment how he arrived, but happy to be here; happy to be. And with all this in front, eyes are closed, and the picture remains, but hazed further by memory, slowly soaking into the mind, mixing with more distant memories; the reality of this most recent experience, slipping with every particle of thought, until osmosis draws it fully into archive and sight gives way to the other senses; further palettes to memory. The resultant colours are those which are tasted, inhaled and heard.
There is something so beautiful contained in the warmth of a sunlit face, yet the air, surrounds, may be bitingly cold, were it not for the protection that the light brings, and what the shade foregoes. There is little to be heard out here, away from everything known in days. Even the birds are silent, no songs are sung, for they too are enjoying the tranquillity, respectful, at peace.
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