LIVING ON A MOUNTAIN

I can see mountains from my window. They’re like a painting dusted with peaches and purples. It’s late in the day, and I can hear the wind whooshing as the clouds move swiftly by. As the sun descends, the mountain peaks hold onto the last bit of glow that it offers. I know that from here, those mountains appear to be only dust, rock, and trees, but there is a bounty of life there.

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