Climbing up the ladder

Nothing changes from breeze to cold, just the flute that whispers in ones head, in a musical trance, that brings the sheep into the slaughter house. I think, therefore I am. Descartes' foolish idea was to think we are somewhat mathematical absolutes, as a sum of numbers that never seem to end. Sentiment makes human beings, not knowledge, not thought, and yet, here am I, led by the mountains to be indifferent.