Where The Earth Speaks

I need to go someplace where the land is not so mute. Where it will speak to me. Someplace where gentle swells and sighing dips will welcome me to roll into the rhythm of the ground. To speak its language. Someplace where sheer precipices and looming, roaring, walls will take me and hide me away in the folds and age of the very bone of the earth.
I cannot seem to hear the land, here. Or if I can it is a monotonous buzzing, a droning that carries with it no meaning, no message. Perhaps I simply do not understand the local dialect. And so life is covered with a heavy blanket of muffling silence. There is no echo, no reverb. There can be no amplification. When the land speaks, when it moves, life is more. Loneliness is emptier, joy is warmer, friendship is more full, a rush is so much faster, love burns so much brighter.