There is a stream running through a forest with moss growing on the rocks
The morning recedes in a small forest hidden from the outside world. The thin mist still hovers between the trees, spins slowly around the trunks of sturdy old trees. Morning dance is faintly audible—the earthy birdsong, gentle friction of the foliage, and gurgles the dripping water from the rain echoes into the damp ground. The moss stones reflect the golden light of the moonlight that begins to penetrate the canopy gap, creates a moving shadow on the ground decorated with protruding roots. In the distance , the mountain looks like a mute silhouette, standing firm in the arms of a slowly dancing morning mist. Everything feels magical, as if this forest holds a secret which is only open to those patient enough to hear nature's whispers.
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The morning recedes in a small forest hidden from the outside world. The thin mist still hovers between the trees, spins slowly around the trunks of sturdy old trees. Morning dance is faintly audible—the earthy birdsong, gentle friction of the foliage, and gurgles the dripping water from the rain echoes into the damp ground. The moss stones reflect the golden light of the moonlight that begins to penetrate the canopy gap, creates a moving shadow on the ground decorated with protruding roots. In the distance , the mountain looks like a mute silhouette, standing firm in the arms of a slowly dancing morning mist. Everything feels magical, as if this forest holds a secret which is only open to those patient enough to hear nature's whispers.
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