Cacophonous waves crash into my eardrums and shatter the pristine serenity of God’s creation. Like the thin layer of sparkling ice that crushes beneath our heavy “clunks” as we tramp onward up the trail. The bare branches lift their exposed limbs in reckless worship while the wintry weather whistles. The wind whips the wisps of wavy hair across my face. Little puffs of condensated clouds escape my parted lips. The sky and earth kiss at the peaks of the mountains with rich hues of navy, azure, lapis, and cobalt and the landscape drips with blues as if poured out from the heavens onto the squadron of stoic, steadfast summits. The paintbrush, too heavily drenched in a vat of color, hovers over the mountains and traces their outline leaving a scenery of thick blots of varying shades. And as the eye traverses farther and farther away the tint became fainter, lighter. Yet, the incessant clamourous buzz of too-loud voices that refuse to desist continue to rob the peace that beckons and calls for us to so freely enter in.