Aeons of fast skies
Have worn smooth these hills.
Chosen colours have rubbed in,
Silence folded into sound.
These lacing waters,
These rock dark ribs.
A breath of rain,
A consideration of leaves.
A subtle exchange,
A movement towards earth.
—
Fast Skies
November 8, 2014 by simonhlilly
simonhlilly 
I love this, Simon. Every word is perfect. It is as if the landscape was just waiting for you to explain it so.
Glad!
All in one in the unending end.