The sun shines not on us but in us.
The rivers flow not past, but through us.
Thrilling, tingling, vibrating
every fiber and cell of the substance of our bodies,
making them glide and sing.
The trees wave and the flowers bloom
in our bodies as well as our souls,
and every bird song, wind song,
and tremendous storm song
of the rocks in the heart
of the mountains is our song,
our very own, and sings our love.
John Muir
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