From July 31, 2014
Fog pulls itself, hand over hand, up the mountain side and around the top. It slides down the other side, slowly, slowly then faster, rushing past hills scared with lava stone. As it passes us by its cool fingers brush my face, leaving moist trails on my cheeks.
Onward it goes, tumbling here and there before falling into the waiting arms of the forest.
Up here in the clouds we can get lost. Wandering beings in a world of our own, passing by other wanderers, enveloped in their own worlds of fog, forest and stone.