Our day took us through the back roads of Virginia's rolling hills. The lush fields of tall grasses were flattened by days of rain, the streams and ponds swollen to overflowing, branches trembling with drips. Even the light seemed wet. It was as if every leaf was infused with more green. With each new shower each hill found a new shade of silence.
Green was the silence, wet was the light, the month of June trembled like a butterfly.
--Pablo Neruda
--Pablo Neruda
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