The countryside sings all around me. While the trickling stream provides melody, and the mini waterfall, bass, the whispering leaves of my pear tree plays the background softness.
The Old Pear Tree is glad to see me. I just know it is. The whole gully is happy to see me. Why else would it be singing so merrily? Why else would the breeze frolick in my hair in such a friendly way?
And I am ever so glad to be here. I have to stop writing to glance around me every few words. Now to follow an ant on it's journey up the tree-trunk. Now to reply to the wind's whispering call. Now to answer the creek's friendly enquiries.
My soul feels free here. I feel like I could sing and dance aloud. My heart is somber and quiet. It's a delightful feeling.
I have fixed me up a little cranny where I can nestle up against my friends the trees and really feel their embrace and here their soft singing.
Grove Glenn is ever so green. Greener then I have ever seen it before. The bamboo grass is like a baby-soft carpet under the wattle trees.
I have decided that I want to come up here, alone, to camp for a night. It is such an idyllic place. My mood and heart change when I come up here. It's a place of imagination and dreams. Dreams.
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