It’s easy to see the reflections of one natural life-breath to another.

The rippling of the long grass in the fields like the flow of water in the vastness of the ocean.

The half-charred and broken lonely log seems to mimic the cycle of night and day.

And the wildflower, blossoming up, towards the brightness of the sun.

There is such a mixture of old and new.

Of decaying and flourishing.

Of what is and what used to be.

The wind moves everything.

The branches of trees, interrupting the insects mid-flight, and changing the shadows on the ground during every single fraction of time.

Everything is constantly changing and there is always something to look up and appreciate.


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