The rivers and streams below me are so busy. I hear water rush over rocks and fall. But up here, above the forest, in the clouds, on the rocky tops, all their efforts seem trivial.

I observe as the clouds, the mist, the fog below me crawls, rises, and expands. The landscape grows larger. New windows open displaying distant peeks and lowest valleys.

From the depths everything rises. The trees in all directions stretch as high as they can. The mountains point to the sky and roll on their backs, gazing above in wonder. The fog slowly, steadily, in all directions, rises to blend into the white sky- majestically, beautifully, like praise being lifted into heaven.

And what do I see? What do I feel? That all my efforts are but rushing water. Life throws me into a river- all endeavors are to keep the water flowing. But here on the mountain top I find perspective. The landscape of life is much larger than my river and the beauty much greater than what I see.

One day I will leave my river. My spirit will rise like the fog, and the clouds will part ways to reveal a vista complete.

But now I return to the forest, to the water- to the rush and the flow, yet I know I am only below, and above I am a part of something bigger.