I wonder how it would be like to put up a house over there. I guess water would be a problem. I would have to go down with a bucket in hand, slide down the stones and go to the river farther below. From here, I could trace a path. But then again, everything looks smaller than they probably are. The trees for one, look like they're tiny broccolis. They could be as high as 20 to 30 feet. So getting a bucket of water would probably take half the day. By the time I'd get back up, it would have been useless.
The winds might be too strong. So the house would have to be shaped like an igloo. I came up with the idea after Glenda the typhoon hit us. Oh yes, Glenda. She felled not less than fifteen of our biggest trees. Winds that strong are becoming more common. But that's another life. Right now, is all that matters. Maybe, I'd build a house here. Raise a family and have a job as a writer.
"Tale weaver" does sound better.
The mountains beckon with their frosty white, like hope glistening in the after light. The stars could be twinkling with no haze and no smog. And the mornings could be greeted with dew drop fogs.
No road can take you here, no news of war and suffering brought about by man's endless existential drama. Because, that's what it is. That's what everything is.
Prime real estate often entails the existence of a prime commodity. Time. Access. Oil. Money. Food. Land to be tilled. Land where children can freely run around without having to be recruited to some ill guided divine cause.
As I go along, the picture's getting dimmer. No, there's no more house by the cliff. No sheeps to tend, no frosty mountain whites that lend their grandeur. It's about news now. Most often bad news. What does God think about all these?
When God's name is tarnished and used for macabre ends. All glory to God in the highest, now off with the infidels' heads!
Once upon a time, man dwelt with nary a care about these complicated modern times. A system created to spread the good word of consumerism, spending, time, labor markets and society. Life was about food perhaps, and love, and of creation. The monstrosities just slowly crept. Creeping slowly with a pink ribbon of dandelion dreams and sparkling waters, development always hid its face, the ultimate farce: "This is where life begins."
Image credit Skrywer, a cool awesome writing app found in Elementary OS and Ubuntu