Downhill

The sky was a pit-cavernous and empty, like a void-feeding on eternal darkness. The gentle trickling of the brook against the shales and stones ricocheted in the vacuum-like valley.

The slope was steep, blanketed by hummus and wet soil, through which the stream mapped downhill-like a veil thrown over withered hands- not to hide the frailty and ugliness, rather like a caress of a child to his mother-reassuring and in a way blissful.

The pines shuffled due to the gentle evening breeze wheezing through them. The psinthurism and the low hum of the brook were rather like a symphony nature had composed- gentle, even though blaring with rage.

Moving downhill one could feel the profound sense of enigma- obliviousness in plain knowledge.

The moon's light flickered and glinted over the illuminated stream- glancing and glinting through paths unseen.

Moving down into the unfathomed depths only kindled one's curiosity within. Alas! oblivion does not contain bliss but rather the torment of the mysteries unknown, how clenching is the desire to move downhill, to discover beneath the underneath, and how it pains to be on the shore gazing at the abyss that could never end and would be left unseen.

The moss-covered barks emanated a strong odour of lifelessness, it hung in the humid air on the threshold of vanishing, threatened by the swift wafts of petrichor that mellowed the overwhelmed senses.

The ground beneath was cracked and deprived of life, despite the flowing water. But this was not the end of the steeping slope, for one could hear the muffled flow of water- distant but clearly beneath.

One could only walk in the hope of finding a surface, but the wells of wisdom are deep.