Day 309: Hidden in clefts, concealed by folds of the landscape, guarded by tangled forest, small green niches share their secret beauty only with those who know how to find them. Some are intermittent, their chuckling cascades a feature of the springtime. Others rise and fall with the season, whispering into the decline of summer, roaring in the floods of autumn's progress into winter. Verdant, virgin mosses cover the stones and boulders which guide these rivulets to the larger rivers, sluicing the cool flow down from tiny springs emergent in meadows painted with wildflowers. They will sing you songs of paintbrush and aster if you sit and listen, but they speak only to those who seek the peace of their hidden sanctuaries. They are the storytellers, the shamans of the Mountain, bestowing serenity and renewal in their quiet passage.
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