Mount Baden Powell

There is a moment on the trail when the wind becomes playful. Its skirls mingle with fine soil. Earth and air dance in the honeyed light of the evening sun. The wind soughs through the outstretched fingers of the conifers - a vast, lonely sound. An entire forest singing. A voice that can only be appreciated in your own silence. And in that silence that great lonely voice is comfort. And you know without doubt that in these places one can be alone without ever being lonely.

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