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Old worn cliffs that echo tales both old and new.
A speeding stream running beneath drawing the curious to those that echo the present and past.
Stories told by the gray and brown bluffs, not trough words but presence alone.
“We have worn time itself” they seem say through bumps and cracks.
Wistful Mother frost could only slow their white words of water, creating great beards of ice that will melt in but months to reveal their faces of Gray and brown Stone.