The leaves rustle, blowing down the narrow lane. These ancient paths riddled with pieces of the past. Birds flit to and fro across the path as the crunch of walking adds to the melody of song.
A flat path suddenly climbs and curves up into the trees, a trail rising higher above the forest floor. The sun rises higher in the sky, but the temperature stays cool as the last summer days hang onto the day. Soon, the early frosty nights will melt in the day and the walks will be quickened.
A tiny yellow flower catches her eye, perfected by nature. She picks it, holding it carefully in between her fingers, and continues walking. It will be a lovely bedside bud to brighten her clean room.
She continues to walk on top of the fallen leaves and hears the bird song changing. The morning has waned and it must be getting close to lunchtime. As she reaches the summit, she stands on the rock clinging to the side of the mountain. The huge rock reaches out over the land. Far beyond are more peaks, more trails, more scenery.
This is life in the mountains, among the ancient trees in the old woods. And endless scenes of beautiful peaks.
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