Bellowing from mountain tops the grace of that is bellowing whooshing in the whisk of air. Flowing gracefully, dancing to whims of others. Striding, riding their other nuances from afar as the whisper they chime takes bate to manifest. Somewhere, somewhere oh somewhere or other a response awaits those whimsical chimes. A child plays in a field unwittingly unaware of the strides of time. Moments stand still based in impermanence yet rolling into another.. How can it be..