Beauty that will remain

Distant mountains. Majestic rocks. White lines where there will be waterfalls. Arid vegetation clinging on tenaciously, knowing it will soon be smothered by wildflowers that spring up after the first rain shower.
Heightened senses. The cool breeze lifting up my hair, playing with every strand before putting it down. The smell of parched earth. The sound of water scuttling by.

Surrounded by exquisite beauty, my heart should soar. Why then does an inexplicable sadness overwhelm me? Is it because I know the beauty will remain even when I am gone? Is it because perfection reminds me of my own mortality?

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A drabble is a story told in exactly 100 words.