These cliffs stand taller than my confidence on Mondays.

The cliffs stretched out before me like ancient guardians of an unspoken story. Their faces bore the scars of time, each crevice a testament to the quiet persistence of wind and rain. Below, the forest spread endlessly, its canopy rippling in shades of green that seemed almost too vivid to belong to this world. The air carried a faint scent of eucalyptus, sharp yet soothing, as if the trees themselves were breathing life into the atmosphere. I watched as shadows played upon the valley floor, shifting with a rhythm that felt both random and deliberate. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out—a sound so fleeting it felt like an afterthought. Standing there, I couldn’t help but marvel at how this place seemed to hold its breath, as though waiting for something or someone to notice its quiet magnificence.