The destination lies somewhere beyond that ring of clouds. Up, along the mountain's side Through the melodies I make the journey through memories. Around me is the winter snow that falls like tears do now in remembrance of simplicity, of the warmth of innocence and fold of childhood ... When dreams untouched by fear, and ambitions secure stretched - and flew - far above the small towns and the fragment of a world the child only knows to the golden-red autumn lit by a sinking sun ... along muddy-twigged trails disappearing into dreams inspired by stories that kindle the heart's fire. How much have I grown and seen since. To weariness and dreariness we run - eagerly, as children do. To turn back is to be too late ... to stare through the bars at a lifeless zoo ... to linger, footsteps echoing, through a gallery of framed stills. We move on hoping we will find our beginning in the end ... knowing childhood is a soap bubble floating on the wind ... a tree leaf beneath the frost ... a flake of snow in a blizzard now melted by the sun. Memories mark the length of my journey up and around the mountain's side. And while once the road snaked beyond even the child's imagination time now brings us closer to the realization that the future is finite. The child runs, seeing no end, but I prefer to walk.
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Updated Thursday, 04-Mar-2004 14:58:28 PST