Wanderlust

It's all music.
The crunching beneath my feet, to the wind whistling, whispering in my ear.
The water from the river soaring in a melody where the rocks underneath are all too happy to make a beated drum, creating the perfect harmony.
With the birds singing a song only the mountains dare to repeat, and only the trees themselves know the lyrics to sing, quietly yet oh so loud should you care to listen, listen to the leaves, the branches are conducting rhythmic creaks.
fear not they shall not break, for even if they fall they shake the ground beneath them with their final song, urging new growth to sing more unabashedly then ever before.
At rest to create a new kind of music as it becomes the very earth it fell upon.