The
cerebral storms in the four-walled room overdosed my senses. Those hours filled
my brain cells with greens, instead. The trip to the hills the weekend before
marked my thoughts with nothing but scenery. The thrill hurried my heart to
beat like crazy. That I could not control. Then, there I was, powerless.
Fighting it hardly, to pack, catch and fly. It almost stopped. That nearly
gotten me stuck for good, forever.
Reflections
crammed my mind. Choosing to miss it would have been unforgiving. To
choose wholeheartedly would entail accidental outflow. But what would I do with
all the abundance?
Arriving
in a familiar place at a quarter before midnight would trouble a highlander,
who had patiently waited a long time just to glimpse the lady who almost did
not make it. Rugged, with a backpack, and heading to a 3-hour ride
to a mountainous terrain, a local adventurer who happened to be seated beside
me could not help it and asked, “Which mountain are you climbing?” I answered,
“I don’t know. But I like to see waterfalls!”
A
midnight-morn snooze was enough for my body to awaken in this chilly weather.
The clock was ticking, and my body hungered for adventure.
The green
façade exuded fresh blast of air; the smell of the trees and its barks filled
me; the gentle breeze caressed my skin.