The boiling storm shoots its thunder towards me, but I am untouchable yet – so I still walk.
A wind moves itself with infinite momentum to whip me into the trumpeting gales – so I still walk.
The constant movement of the earth tries to distance itself from the only treasure which I am aiming for with my steps, yet the constant grandeur makes it slow – so I still walk.
The crying maples weep their sweet honey – yet I still walk.
The gracing mountains move aside with the greatest of pities – but I must walk.
Must I walk? The sweet rivers flow through my goal and still overlap me with its cool sting.
How can I walk?
It is too late.
picture taken from: http://www.baylorbarbee.com