Something about the mountains pulls me as a magnet I cannot resist. Something ancient in my bones, something I cannot name. Both my parents were of the mountains but my young feet traversed only the folds at the foot of the mountains where the skirt ripples out over the land. As with the trees, I want to melt into those hills, sleep cradled in their bosom. Why do they call me so? What do they want with me?
I agree. Mountains and woods are where it's at.
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