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A summer’s evening.  Warm, slanting sunlight and a gentle evening breeze.  Behind, a woodpigeon calling in the trees.  In front, an ancient oak tree, witness to hundreds of summer evenings and a veteran of legions of winter storms.  Beyond the oak tree the hillside sloping down to a lush valley inscribed with a winding river where salmon swim.

An ancient oak tree dappled by evening sunshine

Feeling that breeze, listening to the woodpigeon and almost smelling the river – I could have stood there forever.

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