His thumping heartbeat drummed with every step, legs extending and contracting, gravel shifting under his light boots. The path spirals forward and on like a long snake sidewinding through sand. The mountain air crisp and cold, his breath misting in front of him. With a deep breath, he jumps and clears a log covering the path. The trill of the wild and thrum of life a cacophony to the vast skies and forests around. The path slopes up and up, like the smile tugging the corners of the man's mouth. The trees thin as he reaches the top, like the hair of a balding man. He clears it with a gasp, breathing deep the wind strewn scent of pine and maple.

All around a light fog covers the area, a white cloud blanket amongst the slumbering giants, a soundless snoring blowing through the canyons. Like curled toes, peaks rise up, a dream of airy delight. Canyons like legs, crooked but direct and simple. A large pot belly mound, trees swaying as by a massive breath, followed by another, and another. Rivers like arms, lakes like hands and streams like fingers, honest and callused, waves gentle and lapping in the wind. At the apex, a curved slope, sharp and defined, like the face of one slumbering in eternal bliss. For miles and miles, the mountains continue in the range beyond, both quiet and effervescent. Every morning he greets these marvels, his friends. Each day, they caress his body with their dreamer's breath.

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'Ah,' he thinks. With a wave and a flash, the man leaves behind him a glowing wake of memories for the sleeping, slumbering giants.