Ringlets of smoke rose from the simple shelter as the sounds of a flute melted into my soul. Each note is a message that found me in a place of solitude and reflection, away from the city's hustle, walking a long, winding road upward to where the ground and the sky kiss hello.
The smell of patchouli and campfire smoke stirs memories of years long past but never completely forgotten a culture of peace, love, and harmony with nature.
That life stayed with some as they continued the journey, while others, like myself, strayed, leaving with memories and a burning desire to return.
Now, here I am again, high atop a mountain, walking until I find the small group of yesterday's people sitting around the fire and listening to the sound of a flute close enough to pierce my soul once again.
We are few now older and maybe wiser, but we agree that time didn't win; we did. We may have walked down the mountain a long time ago, but the footprints we left behind us will continue to attract others who once lived in the grassy meadows among the trees and the stars, returning one last time to hear the call of the flute.
Mike 2025
Very spiritual and lovely
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