This, Here, Now...

As the darkest hour of the night comes to pass, and as the sky readies itself to welcome the sun, the willowy fog of clouds and mist continues its journey across the valley. Rising from the foothills and onward across the green expanses on inclines, the fog makes its way.

A calm serenity this valley exudes. A home among the heavens, at the top of the world. The peaks of hills stand tall amongst the clouds. A few hours ago they lay at the mercy of these clouds as they rained down upon them. But now, they tend to the mist like guardian angels.

The mist and cloud speak of the dark past. In the past tense. A sense of hope and reclamation springs forth. Just like the billowing smoke in the aftermath of a war. When all that could be done was done. When houses were razed, and people were razed and everything that could be razed was razed. When the perpetrators were left powerless, bereft of anything they could destroy, bereft of anything they could take away. When all that remained was time. And hope. For things could only get brighter, sunnier and better. The smoke stands testimony to the helplessness of the destroyers, of the healing of time, of the impermanence of the worst. The mist and the clouds speak the same language.

The never-ending, limitless expanse of mist across undulating land stands as steady as time. Continual, steadfast and careless to a whim. Careless of what happens around. Of what it passes. Of what it has passed. Of what it will come to pass. Composed and unfettered, it glides along. Giving hope wherever it goes. Whenever it goes.

If there is a thing to be, it is this.
If there is a place to be, it is here.
If there is a time to be, it is now.