The misty haze of an Asian monsoon season hangs on the lonely mountain peak
The hills echo with he cries of a thousand tiny frogs hiding on the damp earth under leaves
The lush green of the hills are masked by a dark night that still holds the heat of day
It's a quiet night as I survey thousands of homes piled on top of each other and reaching for the sky
The warm blue glow of lonely televisions shine through windows that dot the view like mysterious lights in a cave
Looking from the edge of a wild wilderness up at the granite faces of the mountain is a serenity that makes Seoul so beautifully Asian
Behind me begins a tangled maze of tall buildings that stretches to the horizon and holds the crush of humanity that is so quintessentially Eastern
