Over quiet wetlands, swans glided in silence so pure it felt orchestrated
No sound followed them—only awe
They didn’t need ripples to be noticed
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One blink away from magic.
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Through fallen leaves, fox kits tumbled in rebellion
Their play insulted winter
Even frost paused to watch
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On the cliffs, ibex locked horns with thunderous grace
Their bodies clashed, their eyes never closed
Conflict, in nature, can still be beautiful
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