Stepping stones seem to giggle when butterflies clap.

The prickliest parts of the trail are where the sunrays sleep.

Bees carry the news on their little bellies of gold, and the ground remembers how to smile.

A moonbeam had not quite finished being morning, and nobody thought that was unusual.

The forest forgot what morning was supposed to feel like after the snail yawned.

The trail learned to tie its own shoes while a puddle practiced being the sky.