Summers moon slips over the mountains and shines on waters out of sight. A herald of stars whose light flickers through trees of green leaves, whose constant motion from caressing wisps of wind, hypnotizes the land below releasing sounds of relief and letting go of every woe. The rivers rush and flow endless as time itself muffling the sounds of the earth. All the while the trees, ahhh the trees with their ever changing greens grow straight and true towards the heavens above digging deep their roots into the earth with utter surety and strength.  Steadfast in their quest to grow strong, stretching and reaching for the stars until their dying days upon which seeding the earth with their bodies, bringing in life anew. And as sure as the forests grow or the rivers flow the sun will rise relinquishing its warm nurturing light upon the peaks and valleys, followed swiftly by the chorus of nature’s wakening call. The sounds of which flutter from wing to wing through the branches, leaves and trees as water around stones in the river, beckoning in the mornings light. The sun having shed its wealth only to be surpassed by the gentle summer storms rolling in over the mountains bringing sheets of rain nourishing the greenery that lies below. Bellowing thunderous winds with the smell of lightning in the air eventually giving way to tranquility at last. Alas summer must end ringing in the deep rich colors and smells of autumn, at which time nature lays bare its fruits for all to gather. And the hills become awash with gold and amber as nature hastens its efforts to finish its work before the frost. The nights grow colder and longer until winter’s grasp grows strong, so strong the very faces of the stars themselves change revealing a tapestry of lights not seen since seasons past. Now all the more visible and brilliant in the absence of a shrouded canopy above, while below being reflected back up into the skies and amplified by the crystalline white snows that fall and rest upon the mountain sides, mirroring the celestial bodies that linger an over and beyond. The pristine frozen canvas whose perfection is only broken by the little paw prints of creatures running to and fro seeking  refuge from winters biting chill until spring thaws out winters hold on the land bringing life and tree buds anew. When the valleys will flower and the waters once frozen in time will flow once more over the lands and the tendrils of life begin to fill the very atmosphere with scents and sounds so sweet that one could question if they had stumbled into the pages of a tome describing heaven itself or perhaps had even slipped off into a dream.