Rough rocks scrape your sore palms as you begin to climb up the grayish, speckled boulder. Panting small beads of seat run down your skin from the blazing sun above you; it might as well be a million degrees. Right foot here, left foot there goes your mind as you search for handholds. Soon your hands are rubbed raw and you wish you had come better equipped. Thoughts of turning back enter your mind. Then, you are there, you’ve reached your goal, and in your heart you know that the sore hands and legs are well worth your prize: your treasure.

You stand on top of the mound of roughly worn boulders. This seems like the perfect opportunity to yell, “I’m the king of the world,” so you scream it to the earth. Down below a rushing river drowns out your energetic voice. From way up there the river looks like a puddle after rain. The pure waters glitter and sparkle in the noonday sun. Across the valley a million clustered aspens shimmer in the slight breeze. Their leaves are just beginning to turn gold and orange: the vibrant colors are breathtaking. The trunks are pastel white with open wounds of black. The colors of autumn seem to be overtaking the brightness of summer; somehow shrubs and grass have managed to avoid the clutching paws of the cooling air- nothing will ever escape it in the end.

For a moment there is silence. But, you soon find the longer you are there the more you will hear. Thousands of birds chirp and caw; a hawk swoops above your head as its brown wings guide it in circles toward the ground. The river gurgles and roars. Small animals scurry and the plants whisper in the wind. You see and hear it- but, what you see just makes you hungry for more, human greed overtakes you.

Realizing you haven’t looked at the sky yet, your head is drawn upward. You find the clearest, most perfect blue in existence. Among it fluffy, white clouds drift like they are enjoying the gorgeous day too. Off in the distance, mountain tops look like needles. Their sharp points penetrate the clouds like the fangs of a wolf.

Suddenly, without warning, the clouds begin to move together; losing their heavenly white color. Be proud, you are the first to know that it is raining. The first drop hits your head; dampening your hair. The sky opens up in a wrath of fury. Blue fades and is replaced by dreary gray as lighting illuminates the sky. Thunder now fills your ears: resounding in your eardrums. A big bolt of electricity strikes right before your stunned eyes, kissing a tree with a jolt. Orange flames ignite the tree. The giant fire crackles; tentacles reach out grasping onto each tree, they soon turn black- the color of death. Soon even the pouring rain is too mild to quench the hunger of the flames. The orange and yellows begin to match the dieing aspens leaves. Like a lion preying on fresh meat it devours everything. Floating heat pushes smoke and ashes into the clear waters of the river and the once beautiful sky. Did the beauty ever exist? It seems not, all that once was has flashed past as fast as the running cheetah.
The only witness to this is you, the rise the fall, you see it all. From the soaring hawk, to the laughing river, all is gone. But, do not be disheartened, it will rise again. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week, maybe in fifty years you can return and it will look as it once did. On and on the circle continues and once again it will live.