I picture rolling hills puckered by rain.
I lie in the expanse between valleys and mountains. The gathered dust of the prairies washes away as the valleys drink their water.

The mountain shakes bugs and beetles from its joints, petals bend and dance at the hip each old gnarled, wizened tree - I fan my hand out over nature's glorious mane; I feel blades of wet, sticky grass prickle against my skin.
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