Flying V for vendetta

The tops of trees stunted by years of poor growth pop out of a hillside covered by years of rock slides. I sit next to a glacial river reminiscing upon the journey that has brought me this far up a mountain path. Eating a simple meal wondering why the same simple meal had never given me the pleasure when it was made at home. Even after getting back and preparing everything in the same manner the food could never rival that meal in the pass. At the time I thought that I had covered every point ,and detail. I however didn't take into account for the cold, the damp, and the strain the I had encountered to get to that meal. One always hears the expression, "to stop and smell the roses". To a man who smells roses on a daily basis another rose smells like just any other, another man who cleans up manure for his livelihood would have a differing point of view. The man who constantly is smelling the roses has his senses dulled, all the joy that would normally be brought by something simple like the smell is no longer there. What ever action this man takes it never again rivals the first rose.
As always I remain,
The Destroyer of Worlds