Healingly enter serenity from the north. Tangled trees narrowed by moss filter October sunlight. Early October, leaves of gold and yellow dressing the seaside escape. Cliffs of oceanfront glittering gladly affore the distant islands, sun-kissed by gold light, glinting off seascape. The road winds narrowly, thrillingly, past vistas of tree-curtained sea lanes, the whales swimming gallantly in cerulean splendor. Off the mountain flank, silent rooks look sternly at this autumn festivity in full colors awash by seashore artistry, whence changing seasons come to paint the forest gaiety. High on the terrace we drive, swallowed by solace, a garden-crested troll bridge otherworldly, dripping fingers of lichen-colored garlands bleeding the amber ambience profusely. It takes your breath away, your first taste of nature in years, after the challenges of childbirth pushed you to your limits.
And now comes the valley, looming to the south, where sea meets the road and grass meets the forest, where the naval of the Earth uproots and you wonder how humans could possibly ignore her. Distant forms pepper the flatlands before the mountains; cows, horses, sheep, a cornucopia of domestic grains; simmering the fertile land with natural ornaments. The transition between equally beautiful places with such a strong contrast is quick and surreal. Now it seems like a dream, that the change is too disorienting, that there aren't really wonders so prolific in your own backyard, where the city fogs your view of the surrounding environment, reality snuffed by metropolitan smoke. But it's the trees back by the sea you'll remember most; those divine threads of sunlight draping the solemn tinted leaves like God's own fingerprints, bringing you to a stillness so strong that you couldn't even take a picture.
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