Mountains and Vines

Hazily I stare off into the distance, arising from a dream I had while laying in a field. Grass stuck to my palms and left indents in my skin. A temporary proof that I had been here.  Ridges of the forrest green mountain range look like vines between the fog. They look like green thick vines, and where there are fires, I imagine flowers blooming. Perhaps vines with flowers and mountains with fires are the same thing. Both are places where life emerges, by adversity, by pushing, by blooming wild and free. These mountain ranges and these vines intertwine through my body as veins, weaving an undeniable force of nature that pushes forward

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