Something I wrote on a mountain in California

A windy perch, a summer breeze in fall, the world laid out before me. I heave a sigh and sit at rest, for I don't need to know why.

All there is is all there is, my hunger was for naught, so while I still get shooting pains and fantasy runs through my brain, there's no dragon I should have fought.

I don't need to chase my butterflies, even if they flap forever. The breeze will come, the breeze will go, but I will yet remain. I don't need to be fast or clever, some days I'll bask and some I'll shiver, but even in the harshest weather and even in the spiteful rain, I am the master of my brain.