Crystal Mill I
Tucked away in an autumn paradise the ancient mill rickety with age and wear stands contentedly by the flowing cool waters of the lively stream as they rush past it's door. Spilling down over the mossy rocks, frothing and gurgling as they pass, down from the mountain tops in a clean pure rush to the sea.
The wind gently stirs the golden yellow autumn leaves, carrying the cooling chill that lets us know of winter on its way. A place that time forgot, a scene beautifully etched with life and history, magic in the mountains to behold.