The quixotic paths converge and diverge under the fragrant light of a sun that is drunk at the center of this cosmic romp. Some paths lead to the quicksilver waters that flow forever with lapping waves, laughing, giggling about the stubborn stones washed ashore. Other paths lead to hidden patches of green, autumnal repositories of untamed flora, and secret scents yet discovered by the plugged noses of Man. As I take a path that leads me to an enclosure of trees and multicolored leaves, I get the sense that plants display intelligence---Nature is not a fanciful idea, but rather a dynamic system that shrouds the true face of silence. Everything in this enclosure is, in a sense, breathing me into existence. Aren't all things brazenly wondrous?
I found this beauteous area in St. Vital park today that is perfect for self-reflection, self-inquiry, and self-studies of any kind. The variegated colors are perfect there. The rustling of the leaves is perfect as well. When I die, I want my ashes to be scattered there.
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