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Puddles, wet and dirty may not look like but are s

Puddles, wet and dirty may not look like but are sources of resplendent beauty. The hickory colour roots you down to the mother earth, full of love. (Complete prose in caption) Puddles, wet and dirty may not look like but are sources of resplendent beauty. The hickory colour roots you down to the mother earth, full of love. Look down into the browned puddles. The time around seems to stop. The raindrops fall down into them, crested ripples. Your reflection looks above at you, in the colours of nature and soil. Counting the drops, the mind pulls the strings of eternity. The worthless transitory seems yet more futile. Beauty lies, you realise, not in events, it lies in moments. Pleasure is not in achievement, it is concealed within the effort. Regardless of the mud, what runs down into the puddles is life. From one side it looks unfairly muddy, from the other side, charm ripples and crests within it.
Puddles, wet and dirty may not look like but are sources of resplendent beauty. The hickory colour roots you down to the mother earth, full of love. (Complete prose in caption) Puddles, wet and dirty may not look like but are sources of resplendent beauty. The hickory colour roots you down to the mother earth, full of love. Look down into the browned puddles. The time around seems to stop. The raindrops fall down into them, crested ripples. Your reflection looks above at you, in the colours of nature and soil. Counting the drops, the mind pulls the strings of eternity. The worthless transitory seems yet more futile. Beauty lies, you realise, not in events, it lies in moments. Pleasure is not in achievement, it is concealed within the effort. Regardless of the mud, what runs down into the puddles is life. From one side it looks unfairly muddy, from the other side, charm ripples and crests within it.
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