Nose submerged in beads of sweat and taking in long, deep breaths of chilly autumn air, I set my foot abut the trunk of an alpine. Amber rays break through the tawny midday sun at its apex—blanketing the small, lonely yet serenely beautiful town I call home; revealing its classic simplicity in all glory whilst highlighting innate imperfections admired just as much as its untouched beauty running abreast. Eyes aglow and transfixed, taking in the panorama view with nature’s ambient music of a trickling stream afield, striking stridulations of mountain crickets ambushed behind Chir Pines with their soft rustlings and sweet singing of House Sparrows, kindling every nerve in my body while drawing it into an eclipse with my soul. I feel the gush of wind from northward lovingly caressing my cheek—perhaps having passed through a myriad of solemn towns, happy towns— cities throbbing with warmth and life, districts with heart-wrenching tales—carrying the atoms of every one of them; each with