A monologue about the perfect lines of nature

Imagine you’re sitting in a forest, surrounded by mountains, different kinds of trees and flowers, big and small rocks, a lake... When you look up, you can see different shaped clouds floating. It is quite, you can hear yourself breathing, feeling alive. You take one rock from your side, a grey rock, which she doesn’t have a particular shape, cannot be described, can only be felt and seen, and throw it in to the lake. As soon as the rock drops in the water you see perfect circles forming on the water. You look around, look at the trees that surround you. They’re all pine trees, but not even two are the same. Different shades of green are mixed, building a lovely view. The mountain, right in front of you, stands there with all its might. It is damaged, by rain, by snow, by nature itself, but still it is standing there, for how long, God knows. White, green, gray, Brown, you probably wouldn’t like that combination somewhere else, but here, you cannot take your eyes away. It is beyond pretty. You do not want to move, you do not want to ruin the moment, the silence. Feeling alive and being amazed by how perfectly imperfect the lines of nature is, I want to cry.