A still river flows over polished rocks,
The limbs of a lazy pine sag and sway towards the cool rushing stream,
I hear the crackle of squirrels running above me and pine needles are falling on my hair,
Fluff hangs mid-air around me suspended on the breath of the forest,
I'm sitting on a rock covered in moss, red, white, and yellow, natives call them painted and give them souls,
As a woodpecker knocks the tree beside me I meditate on tranquility.
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