Water falls like liquid crystal,
splashes audibly on the ground.
Ants scurry in haphazard patterns
on errands of their own design,
looping and weaving on warm stone steps.
The old oak tree stands magnificent and proud,
arms spread wide to shelter all beneath.
And above, the sun smiles down
from blue skies filled with fluffy white clouds.
I sit in quiet contemplation,
grass carpet soft beneath my feet.
Content, a pen in my hand.
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