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Sshh The pale morning sun, upon our faces A crisp cold wind, stinging our eyes The tall bare pines, towering above us Little patches of snow, on yellow green grass Melting, flowing in tiny wet streaks Rugged white peaks almost within reach The absolute calm, no synthetic sounds Just birds chirping in their merry world The soft rustle of dry twigs and leaves Crushed under our feet, as we walk Sshh, tread gently, lest we break this trance Our minds resting, yet communing somehow With the spirits of the Mountain Gods ~Swati Chandran~
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