Golden peaks of towering hills glow from a distance. In the evening, when weary sun grazes hills, sky simmers with crimson, vermilion, azure and milky white lights. Slowly a fiery red flush creeps over the valley and sky begins to dim down. The river, the woods, that narrow track along the river leading to woods, leisurely all pass to slumber. Trees become sombre and quieter, hidden and resting for the night.
In the morning, a soft light slowly devours the sky. Trees quietly await the sun to rise and birds trill their flurried chirps. The glory of the pristine mountain, bit by bit, heaves to the sight. There’s a dignity, an incorruptible beauty in the quietness of the robust hills. Pure air perfumed with the scent of pink and maroon whispy blossoms fills the whole valley. The spectacular vista of lush little folds of majestic mountains and the free-spirited river is spellbinding. There is a deep calm and stillness that blooms into an intense and profound peace. An extraordinary sense of life overflows. One can lose track of time and still a tiny whit of life is never missed.