  It was once said, "altissima quaeque flumina minimo sono labi," and I agree. But where is the one that will learn this truth about me, and that I may learn the truth about her. Dark, dismal, and gloomy days fill my pockets even when the sun is burning my face and chasing away clouds from the sky. Adding insult to injury, the dream, with the blue face in the mountain, keeps returning night after night. In my mind's eye, I can see the face so clearly. Peering eyes gaze into my own and subsequently close slowly and forever.
The dreams keep coming, its as though I have to bat them away, in my deepest recesses, for they are overflowing with trenchant meanings that are crossing the great divide to wander into my conscious moments. Perhaps this manifestations are a beautiful requiem for all the things slipping through my hands. Until knowledge brightens the path, and the thundercloud before me breaks the silence with a terrible slap, I shall hide it all in the gloomy hearts. 
