These giants are beautiful from afar, but are visually displeasing when near. Valleys below are not mindful of the ones towering above the clouds, above the stifling fog and choking haze. The cold and lush foliage garnishing the folds of the earth has little interest in the barrenness aloft in the winds. But the giants know. Faint sounds of weeping drift up through the forests and ride the thermals up the rocky promontories. A giant is stirred and slides from his crest to descend into the cauldron of billows below, clutching an offering of solace. He crouches in the thick wet forest, among the jumble of ferns and felled trees, inhaling the frigid musk of ancient timbers. Sobbing seems to ride in the fog as it comes from everywhere, and yet from nowhere certain. It all sounds so frail and so human. The melding of lonely moans and cries create a singular groan, a sad melody rising and falling as the wind through silent canyons.
Tears streak the giant's features as he weeps at the crescendo about him. So much sadness and heartache boil behind countless eyes that see only the darkness and are blind to the heights. The futility crushes the giant's will and he lowers his mighty head and cries from the core. The earth trembles. The valley awakens to his presence and turns from its wailing to cast him away. The offering crumbles into the dank earth, empty and lifeless. Rising to the rocks, the giant begins his ascent back up through the clouds.
His massive form settles among the cathedrals as he rejoins the ageless sentinels atop the majestic towers. Moist eyes return to the starry display as he focuses upon the timeless tracks of the brilliant host. The flashes of shooting stars crease the sky and sparkle in tired but wiser eyes. And he ponders the heavens.
