On the horizon, the sun is setting. It hangs in an orange swell.
Already I feel the cold moving in from the west, as the wind picks up across the treetops; the rustling echoes throughout the valley.
Before me is a ledge, a steep escarpment that slices its way across the province from the south. This is my place. I stand here, looking over the forest below, believing myself to be a god, or some great guardian.
Power, and the thirst for it, is what drives us internally. Power over ourselves, power over others, and power over the world around us.
In the end though, I find no satisfaction from my delusions of grandeur, for it is here, above the world, that I realize how truly insignificant I am.
I look at the trees, the seemingly endless expanse of green foliage dancing in the valley below. I look at the clouds, marching forever into the red haze of the sunset. I feel the breeze as it blows through my soul.
I look up, to catch the first few stars, piercing through the twilight.
This insignificance is not lost on me.
I am, in some sense, freed by it.
I close my eyes and find myself in between, in the ether that holds reality together.
When I wake, It will all start again.