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The Appalachians Tall mountains clothed in twisted oak and singing pine. The scent is strong and ground slippery where needles lay in a thick carpet, mixing with aroma of rhododendron. Birds sing rapturously with joy, a day that truly feels like spring. A natural hollow in the rocks, being fed by a soft ripple from a waterfall, running down the back cliff, large enough to form a fair sized pool, before the overflow continues its secret way, down the forest to a valley, where it ends in a small, pure stream. Tree branches overhang the water, casting dappled patterns. A squirrel chatters from the safety of a branch above the trail, that connects Georgia to Maine, through the Appalachians. . |
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