At the Forest Brook

Dewdrops glisten on the branches, and the air is fresh, slightly cool from the passing night. Sunbeams dance through the veil of mist, and in the quiet, a small forest brook murmurs as it winds between moss-covered stones and roots.The brook’s water is clear and cold, bubbling and flowing gently, its sound soft and soothing. Along its banks grow ferns and moss, and here and there, a solitary wood cranesbill blooms. High in the canopy, the bright, clear song of a song thrush rings out — its phrases shifting and following one another like a meditative poem.