The day after

I wake to the rhythmic sound of traffic.  What happened to the melodic tinkling of the mountain streams?  I look around my empty room. Where are my friends, my tribe?  I put a heavy pack on my back and invent a mission to go on that morning, just so I can get out.  I yearn for the mountains so badly it aches.

I miss that feeling of getting up and going.  Your heartbeat thudding, strong as a drum.

I shuffle on to work, passing by the bergies who are packing away their “home” for the night.  Stuffing their bedding down manholes or in drains, out of the way of the rest of us.  People zombie on past me, the malaise of the city cataracting their eyes.

Why do we do this?  When did we buy into this?

Why are we not in the mountains where we feel alive?  The places where we don’t have to seek happiness, where it comes naturally.

Instead we ferret ourselves away in our little boxes, isolate ourselves with our “don’t talk to me” shields.  Glaze over with screen eyes.

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By illonapelser

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