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Is there anything softer than the forest moss? Is there more anything more companionable than the long standing trees as they sway together and intertwine in the deep? I'd ask Walt Whitman, but he's deep in reverie: " I bequeathe myself to the dirt, to grow from the grass I love; If you want me again, look for me under your boot-soles."
To me, it's philosophy of a higher level. See however that you've lifted your boot-soles, resulting in this original, remarkable, but fine capture.