Soft earth my cushion,
Sitting against a firm tree.
Grasses dance in the field.
Breeze runs fingers through my hair,
Lazily toys with the mill nearby.
The sun wraps me in warmth.
Luminous clouds migrate,
Shadowing acres as they pass.
Mountains can't fence them in.
Presence fills all 'round,
Stirs my core to pure joy.
Stones needn't speak.
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