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 grey trunks of historic bushes rose majestically in direction of the sky, their gnarled branches twisted and turned in unattainable methods, like nature’s personal murals. Amidst their steadfast presence, bursts of vibrant life exploded forth – blackberry bushes heavy with juicy fruit, brown leaves crunching beneath each step, and inexperienced shoots pushing forth with irrepressible vitality. And but, scattered all through this tapestry have been flashes of white – wispy clouds drifting lazily throughout the sky, delicate wildflowers swaying gently within the breeze, and even the occasional snowy peak rising up from the distant bluemountains, its rugged magnificence beckoning me ever deeper into the center of those mystical woods. As I wandered by this woodlandscapes, I felt as if I had stumbled into an artist’s studio, the place colours have been blended and matched in daring strokes throughout the canvas of nature – every hue mixing seamlessly into the following, making a masterpiece of breathtaking magnificence that appeared nearly alive, pulsating with an power all its personal. And I, small and insignificant amidst this grandeur, felt humbled but exhilarated by the sheer surprise of all of it – my senses overwhelmed, but my spirit hovering free amidst these grayblackbrowngreenwhitetreesbluemountainswoodlandscapes.
