It is both exciting and distracting to think about such things. Living in grace and calling it our own. A small whimper from beneath the earth that disrupts the daily practice. We are always running, and most often too far away. When the beauty is here, it stays. It asks us not to live in haste. It is not you that I fear. But myself. I am selfish, eradicating the thoughts from my skull. My sweat, protruding. I am faithless and full. But so often, forgotten of the pretense. Mind racing, there are thoughts that do not belong. Misplacing my emotions and I am numb. All of the metadata, swirling. There is a car outside of my window. It does not belong to me, and I live in a glass house. Everyone can see inside, but the glass is foggy. There are broken trees and naked limbs, hanging. Just outside of the light in the window. The lights always replaces the dark. Even if just a myriad of tiny specks. Bleeding through. The mountains remove their blankets from the peaceful silence of night. And there they stand. Right along, by my side. I am tall. And again, I am whole.