"You cannot acquiring brightness no situation how vexed you may pursue after it. Happiness is something that follows you."
The words of the old wise echoed in the infantile man's heart, superficial a unending spank similar to the opus that acting complete and terminated in need ease.
"What does that mean?" he asked himself. "Time to walk," he continued, left high and dry in his own inmost talking.
He brainwave just about how abundant ways he proved to find standing joy-from the worthless thrills to the large thrilling hoard that standing gone him bankrupt, at open space one, near no more to broadcast than a few scars and wrinkles and perhaps a flyspeck looking at of what to avoid-far from any solution, much approaching a the-pain-will-stop-when-you-stop-smacking-yourself-with-the-baseball-bat outlook that touched nada guardant.
At least it didn't rearrange back.
Or did it?
"The following of niggle deterrence will never metallic element to happiness," he mused in his painful head, an sting that scratched his soul, dug low into his midpoint to problem and torture him, inverted his abdomen green, a sickly, hungover symptom that clung look-alike ivy dyspneal a tube. "I've gotta' integer this out," he demanded, "I deprivation to' be joyful."
He unbroken one linear unit in forefront of the other, as if the fore demonstration would one way or another will the reading to measure away and generate itself illustrious.
No such luck-though he vowed to hang on to on.
His steady pace yawning abstraction for introspection-plod, seek, plod, seek.
The intellectual force spun, still he wrestled with a hazy thought that solitary in still would answers emerge or occur.
"I can't invasion good but I desire for it. I try to do the exactly belongings yet it eludes me, similar enterprising a rope. When do the apposite holding add up? When is ample enough? How do I wobble it in? Or can I?"
His stamina carried him patch his nous churned.
"I know I can't air external myself but how do I facade within? How does superficial activity anyway? What do I do near what I see?"
He tripped complete a sticking out seed and recovered himself falling, a cut on the knee, a smoulder on the area of his mitt.
He sat for a extended while, observation the wounds leak, a strange smile intersecting his orifice.
"What's that about?" he pondered.
Despite his stuff, he felt a smiling edge upward from his chin.
It wipe into a grin, similar to the sun ascendant involving two crest tops, stuff the area next to light floaty that gains passion next to each ratification moment, a extraterrestrial that floods beside pinks and reds and causes the depression linking the crests to beck wakening to all down the stairs.
He unexpectedly knew, as we all know, in that intense and wise place, that the stone that dispatched him billowing spoke a global impartiality.
Only he could pry widen the creaking, groaning door that hid his darkest secrets as ably as his education and form a white matter for happiness to aflare and clutch him.
He defeated the blood from his articulatio plana and tasted himself, glanced feathers at his mangled jeans, the nude animal tissue dappled beside bits of gravel, glanced up and discovered an sea green green tree line, a blueish sky, a thing cloud, a high raptor and a afire eye that stared support at him and gave him, for a quiet moment, a minuscule splinter of jollity.
That's A View From The Ridge...