Your neck tilts in fine line of humility. You gaze at the forest full of silent, green leaves. Your eyes hold dignity, mouth clasped in integrity. The crows fly across the sky. But you don’t believe in omens. You see beauty in the color of black, a brushstroke against the sky. So you walk. The soil is drenched in possibilities. You listen to the ground welcome your steps into the wild. You take a deep breath of fresh air, the morning mist. You smell honorable history, you smell sprouting future.

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