The rock on the cliffwatches the forest from up high.The canopy is still,quiet, with the soft soundof the breeze through the piney brush.Any one movement islike a shooting star in the vast sky,hardly noticed.As the day rolls on,not much happens.The rock enjoys the quiet.It’s one of those small thingsthat makes life rich.The hot sun beats down,but the cool surface of the rockmakes the heat slip away.As the sun lies downbeyond the horizon,rays of orange, yellows, andpinks paint themselves across the sky,making the forest canopya mystical gold.If the rock could smile,it would.The dark spreads across the wood,the trees casting shadows uponthe moonlit earth.The rock is now a dark shape,pressed against the mountainfull of simplicityas the human world bustles on.