They are the knowing ones who accept me. I am the ones who resist them. Four rolling hills with harsh inclines and soft grass on which to nap. Four who are not afraid to over stay their welcome. Four monstrous dreams, dreamed up to move me. Regardless of where I am, I feel them, but my eyes don’t believe what I feel.
Their shadows are mysterious. Keeping their intentions unknown. Their shapes always changing and rolling in new directions between the harsh inclines and the soft grass and sail through the clouds and never come down. This is how they live.
Let one find his path on which walk, the path to follow forever like birds, flying south finding meaning as they move. Paths, paths, paths for us to follow. I obey.
When I am too tired and too alone to keep walking, when I am the harsh frost crisping their golden grass. When the sky falls, dragging my heart along. Four who stand up for me. Four who lift me past the clouds. Four who mold the path I chose to follow.