This grand show is eternal. It is always sunrise somewhere; the dew is
never dried all at once; a shower is forever falling; vapor is ever
rising. Eternal sunrise, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and
continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.
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... John Muir
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Every word a singing pebble...