Sweeter than honey

As I treaded the shattered rocks over the lonely ridge I heard a soft whisper. On my left tucked back into a clouded crevasse was a giant glacier pouring out into a puddle of a lake, opening it up was a cold antarctic breeze. And on my right there seemed to be some kind of tropical getaway, the kind a young couple might retreat to with warm sand, crystal water and green fruit trees.

The clouds had dove in toward me as I climbed the ridge and the mist sprayed the front of me lightly, one side as icy as the arctic and the other a warm breeze through the trees. Through the air I could still hear the soft whisper in front of me. As I followed it, the nonsense it mumbled began to form definite phrases. It called me down from the top of the ridge into the tropical getaway. I scrambled down the rocks into the thick forest. It was impossible to ignore, just like the wind filling a sail, the whisper filled me and pushed me head on. When I arrived to the source my body froze from the coolness that blew down the side of the mount. It sounded so still, smelled sweet as honey, felt refreshing on my skin and it tasted like life. I'm not sure I've tasted anything so lovely in all my short life. What I sensed will always remain mine. Perhaps such as life.