The hills roll in a seamless fashion endlessly into the horizon,
Like thunder from the clouds of a peaceful rainstorm,
They quietly dissipate into the wilderness.
There are no plans here, just happenings.
The stream gliding through the forest,
Spreading music trickling between the trees and rocks.
The trees providing shade for the inhabitants,
Guarding those below from the deluded sun.
The sun that warms everything with its embrace,
But is harsh to the unprotected skin and eye.
The colors are painted in a flawless fashion,
All of which match one another perfectly.
They flow through the seasons, ever changing.
The predictability brings comfort.
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