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.