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If you lived in Maine
Have you ever noticed how the leaves fall in the autumn, slowly and effortlessly creating the most beautiful rain storm and how they twirl and spin, some as fast as lightning others with a deathly slow sort of pace, or how the river rushes on never daring to look back,never asking to change yet it does with every breath you blow upon it?
Have you ever noticed how heartbreaking it is to see a mountain silently begging for someone, anyone to sit and listen to his tales of how the world once was, and how by placing your self atop that poor mountain you might just hear its reason for crying as he does?
Do you ever bother to stop and look back, to see if after the first step into the woods the world you just left is still there, calmly waiting for you to return?
Have you ever noticed how loudly the waves beat against the shore, and that if you listen carefully you can hear the sea giggle at its actions of pounding the shore with all its might and the even quieter sound of the coast sobbing, more and more with each painful wave the ocean unleashes upon it?
Do you you ever stop while you’re walking down the sidewalk to admire the heroic efforts of the small weed trying so desperately to reach the sunlight between the cracks in the concrete?
Did you ever notice the foretasted silence of waking up on a Monday morning only to find it snowing ferociously?
Have you noticed how after the last snow falls in spring and after that snow has melted away there is a feeling in the air that is so strong that it’s almost tangible yet so unattainable?
Do you ever stop to think, to wonder, to believe?
If you lived in Maine you would. You would notice the leaves, the river, and the beautifully silent mornings. You would stop every once in awhile to listen to the crumbling rocks of the mountain, and you would know how desperately that once majestic mountain longs for the world to stop passing it by as it has for too long. You would stop to congratulate the weed on its achievement of continuing to grow no matter how the maturing world tries to stop it. You would stop to watch the snow fall. You would wonder. You would dare. You might even believe.
If you lived Maine you would know.
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