In my heart I'm a wanderer, pulled ever onward seemingly by the heavens and the earth. Some days I rise up to meet the firmaments and revel in the sun, but then low I come again when the hours pass too heavy. I cross the lands furtively taking in the long earth, and visit its darkened places below aught else will ever find. But if the mood strikes me and I'm want for mischief, oh then up I'll come an make a raucous, ruin your shoes, make you remember how to run.
Mostly I pass tranquilly though, and make no judgement upon where or with whom I entreat. Visitors a plenty find my ways, and at times rest awestruck in the cathedrals of my endeavors, even they themselves being made upon me. In this, I am given woven-form through each living, breathing thing: a short indulgence we share, before each of us passes on. The living come and go, but I quietly remain.
Eventually my long pilgrimage slows, and I rest on cold nights upon the pinnacles, or crawl laboriously etching my song into the heart of the earth. Though fear not dear ones, for soon warmth's release will call me down again into your townships and homes and we'll drink together merrily once more. Always onward, I move ever homewards with little choice in my way. On and on my joyous wandering goes, until finally I feel the bright satellite's pull, only then returning to the shore and forgetfulness.
