It seems that all complex matters- in time- reveal themselves to be quite simple, as the days become more quiet, reflective and immaterial. I wake up each morning and find that the sweet basil and heirloom I planted weeks ago are taking deeper root, and I can't help but feel a kinship with their struggle; amorphic creatures, un-occluded by fantasy or delusions of progress.
The sun is setting sooner, my mind is finally discovering peace, and I'd like nothing more than to be able to describe that particular mountain.
However there's little time in the day for nostalgia.