The brook is the poster child for the art of positive chaos, for the golden boats of autumn time adorn its sweet harbour. No master of old could have made a picture as pretty as this.
After days or rain-washed streets, the brooks chatter in the hills, mini-rivers creating mini-gorges without concept of scale. Around them the greenery drinks, leaves become boats and their sound upon the rocks sings with a steady confidence, the percussion to the chorus of the birds.
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