Venasque.

If there was ever a different tree that I climbed,
One without long, strong branches and a trunk like molasses, I don't know where my head would've been.
It's easy to understand with this mindset that the sand that cascaded the landscape,
Back when my soul was nothing more than an egg under the incubator,
Was not merely thrown there, but was heaved up by some underlying energy.
But it doesn't matter to me now, as I walk across the pure yellow grain,
And tilt my head backwards to catch a full breath of the liquefied air.
Then my gaze wanders until it's caught hook-line-and-sinker on the rocks and their monotonous crashing against the water.
We meet hardships, hardships don't meet us.
And as I walk the extreme landscape,
With colors so bright and bold,
It seems as if there would be a war, for there were too many intense differences.
I come upon my tree and climb it, in order to look down on everything.
I felt like God.
Looking down upon all of his creation with nothing more than love and awe in my heart.
And I still go there sometimes,
If I can find the time to want nothing and to love everything.