Snowy Windmill

I wander the rocks, crawling through every crack at least three times. I go back and forth, and every time I find a good spot, the "path" to it, with my equipment and canvases in my hands, is only a dream.

I'm starting to feel helpless and tired. There was a person walking towards me. Seeing my painting gear brought a smile to her face, which she gave me as we passed.

Suddenly everything seemed lighter. Right from where I was standing, I turn to a sandy path leading to one of the rock giants. I fight my way to the top. And there I see a celestial wonder. Walls as softly white as snow. I pass through a tunnel-shaped passageway. Here on the ground, fresh powder snow is crumpled from the walls. At the end of the passage is a wide view of the woods, in which several of those massive rock figures stand out. I fall to my knees overwhelmed and crying of happiness in the snow. If this isn't heaven, I don't know what should be. The wind blows white sand onto my canvas, and the late sun illuminates the white sandstone peaks with pure orange lights.