1 Being

Alone he stood, straight as a rod, in the verdant vastitude of the dale, its grass ruffling in salutations to the ceaseless breeze. Tears welled up in his eyes; not by virtue of grief, nor of bliss, but of mesmerism at that which he beheld, for in its presence, he felt so very small, so infinitely insignificant.

The beclouded sky hosted a duel of darkness and light, each seeking to overwhelm the other's zeal as heliacal beams, uncurbed and obdurate, cleaved through the dark nebulae. Whether by divine will or by yet unexplained science, the grass, though ruffling in the breeze, lost none of its dew-induced scintillescence. The sunbeams profusely illumined the immediate surroundings, partly obscuring the stratospheric mountains a great distance ahead; tenebrous by virtue of the dark-grey mistiness of their vicinage, and yet fragmentedly illumined. He stood in the very heart of the hereafter, the nirvana, he felt. For despite the splendour, beautified by the mellifluent breeze, here was serenity at its vertex, the bliss of just being.