The Will Of Time

I love to trek.
It teaches me discipline. Of my body and mind. Of my soul.
It is when I retrospect.
It is when I know myself and get familiar with my innermost thoughts.
It is when I'm truly alone and at peace.
It is when I'm one with the Spirit itself.

I was lying by the stream that day. The sky was overcast and the wind was slowly growing chilly. I had my jacket and good shoes on so I'd little to worry. Everything was going as smoothly as expected. The glacier was conquered two days ago and my fellow trekkers were in a jolly mood. It was then I had felt the void... deep inside me.
The gargles of the stream were helping me explore it.

I started walking in the dense forest of my troubled dreams. A single path kept showing itself before me. I knew where it lead to. Hesitantly, I kept walking on. Old habits die hard and so do old passions. I recalled the days when this road was much more pleasant... sweet scents wafting through the air... and when the sky was anything but gloomy. I missed those days. Those days were history.

The leaves of the fall which had blown away with the wind of time had made no attempt to return. The seeds buried deep beneath the ground were making no efforts to resurface. The buds refused to flower. With deep regret I realised that it's too late. The pole was driven six feet deep and refused to budge against the flimsy force of my will.
I foolishly thought that I've been scarred for life. I believed that it's not easy to get over things even as time flows by...

As if to prove my point, I picked up a rock and threw it in the rushing waters. As expected, it stuck fast between two large boulders and refused to move.
I grimaced.
Then it was unceremoniously removed from its place by the current and was smoothly carried downstream. Such was the result of its pointless defiance.

Wind ruffled up my hair as the sun shone down...