Mountains tower endlessly in the distance. Tirelessly attempting to obstruct each new trespasser. Hiding their secrets, in cloud shrouded rain forests. It is an old place, a holy place. Lifted by the Earth’s outstretched arms. Through the Sun Gate, a collapsing path leads forward. Strange creatures walk here. Miniature giraffes, hair pigs, and colonies that chew solid rock. The city is on these mountain tops. What are first mistaken for giant stairways climbing mountain sides become terraced farms. This place is a memory, of bright woven clothes, of temples of stone, and timeless gods. It is the defiance of an ancient people to surrender their most sacred place, their paradise, their hope. It is Macchu Picchu.
by my son
