The old man of the mountain

Upon a river sat a man with a beard grayed from time and ruffled from the harsh winds. He waded out through the silt and clay wondering how beautiful the forest could be. The birds had sung songs of his adventures and he sung back to the birds as no man on earth could hear him or his chirps. His tent was absent for he needed none and would sleep on green laden earth. No ceiling made for him but the stars and nebulae above as night lights so the fireflies couldn't grow lonesome. A home for him upon this mountain stream beside the stars, the trees, and the birds. His home was the cliffside with a stream not too far and his sights those of nature's fantastical works. It was he who walked this path, the old man of the mountain.