Hills covered in rough greenery, tall trees pull it up as if it could reach at being a mountain.

Below the canopy light coruscates through the trees leading trails of light toward the afternoon sun.

Damp undergrowth and shaded foliage from the trees above leave the ground beneath your boot to slide if not careful.

And cleared of trees, crown shyness barely reaching the edges of it lie a stream, digging itself a place among the greenery, a silver lining to the shaded forests surrounding the area.

It was a marking point for the waterhole downstream, the subtly flutter of the water as it runs past grounded feet, seeking asylum in greater mass.

The walking stream touched stone and fallen logs. But was impeded by nothing. Only bending to its size or warping around its seemingly unchanged surroundings.

At last ahead the rushing sound of raining water, splashing as it hit the waterhole.

Disrobe and dot on sunscreen. A day off awaits.