Controlled by Mother Nature, rain senses the earth’s needs and gifts the sun-baked, parched and thirsty thistles, with reflecting refreshment. Vines weaving over wet-washed rocks cascade, like a bride’s bouquet over slopes of virgin white sand, in their search for droplets of dew. Skies above an orchard’s bed-side brook hear the brook babbling and gurgling like a happy infant. Flocks of airborne birds float on the nothingness and descend near the stream underneath the foot bridge.
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