up the hill, the green mountain.

Haze of uncertainty covered the isle. Looking from the sky, it seems like a lost land. A lost land , yet with dignity, a green mountain stood somewhere in it, reaching for the tip of the sky, outreach to the universe.

When does that fresh flow of air came through our mind, that makes us space out for just some time, believing that this world is a wonderland. Lewis Caroll left us, but Alice never did, perhaps the naive figure will never leave the artistic and creative imagination. The darkness rooted in the figure is devastating. The hunted artist left us a imagination that will satisfies our offspring. Happiness does not bore this wonderful, but insanity does. The wonderful that hunts everyone since young, yet taking as a beautiful dream rather than a nightmare of wandering in the 'black' castle.

There is this sense of nature living inside us that is laying the eggs. Undiscovered will lead to migraine. Complaints filled with boredom is just a way to show darkness, or to cover some part of the light. Perhaps there is a day to go naked on the floor of grass, listening to the heartbeats of the earth. Running around the field, sun shinning on our bodily flesh, all animals speaks in their voices, and that makes this world a better and original place. A disastrous and depressing city, we have brought ourselves into. It is born to this earth, together with us, from the womb, fresh and naturally.

Where is the green with freshness and yet never fade? Will it possess the eternity of not decaying with a tender smell, reminding us of the peaceful vast land filled with hope that we once acknowledge. It is deep in our mind and yet we never bring it out to redefine our life according to it. We are too bust to be true, we live in virtually messy life, we don't have time to live, to breath, to sing, to love, to inspire, to be fresh, to be born. . . In the end, darkness came crawling to swifting with regret.

peace,