As I stood on the fringe of the woodlandscapes, I used to be struck by the kaleidoscope of colours that danced earlier than my eyes. The bushes, tall and majestic, stretched in the direction of the sky like nature’s personal cathedral, their branches swaying gently within the breeze like supplicants praying for divine inspiration. Their trunks, sturdy and powerful, wore cloaks of grey, weathered to perfection by the weather, whereas their leaves shimmered with hues of inexperienced – emerald, olive, sage – every one distinct but harmonious, making a symphony of colour that was each soothing and invigorating.
However as I wandered deeper into this sylvan paradise, I started to note refined nuances within the palette – whispers of black, darkish and mysterious, lurking within the shadows; wisps of brown, earthy and wealthy, scattered throughout the forest flooring; flashes of white, pure and untainted, peeking out from behind veils of foliage. And above all of it, the blue mountains loomed giant, their rugged peaks reaching for the clouds like giants straining in the direction of the heavens. The air was alive with an nearly palpable vitality, as if the bushes themselves had been exhaling secrets and techniques on the wind.
As I breathed all of it in, I felt my very own spirit increasing, unfurling its petals like some uncommon flower blooming within the solar. The woodlandscapes had been alive, pulsating with historic knowledge, whispering secrets and techniques of the ages on the breeze. On this sacred house, time itself appeared to bend and warp, stretching backwards into eternity even because it hurtled ahead into infinity. I stood there, awestruck and humbled, ingesting in the fantastic thing about all of it – grayblackbrowngreenwhitetreesbluemountainswoodlandscapes – an everlasting tapestry woven from threads of colour, texture, sound, and scent, every strand intertwined with the others to create one thing better than the sum of its elements – one thing really chic.
