On the ascent to Lake Angeles. The Trees all around. The Sun coming through. Making IT feel like a Stage. Popping flowery grounds. The Stream gurgling. And then the Emerald. Among the Mountains. Back down through the Forest. The Hiker en route to the Lake. Stopping. Chatting. Waves Goodbye. Moving On. I spot this letter. Pinched by the branch.
Do not stand at my grave and weep,Are we humans REALLY that Distant from the Nature?
I am not there, I do not sleep,
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am diamond glints on snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn's rain,
I am the soft, uplifting rush,
Of quiet birds in circled flight,
I am the soft star that shines at night,
Do no stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die.
Mary Elizabeth Frye
