Bealey Valley, Arthur’s Pass, New Zealand

Soak up the still silence.

Except that it is neither still
Nor silent.

Wind tumbles
The leaves of the trees.

Overhead in the branches, sounds
The pebble-in-a-still-pool languor
Of the bellbird,
The electric zit-zit
Of the rifleman.

Nearby, a small stream
Hisses over the rocks.
And from farther away
Comes the deep rumble
Of the river
Shaking the stone
As it crashes
Down the mountain.



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