Vacation destination number one, bodies glistening in the sun. If swimming is not in your repertoire, just go chill at the cabana bar.

As you move toward it, it moves away from you. If you retreat from it, then it will advance in your direction. It goes down if you go up. Up it goes, as you descend. It's unreachable but it's always there.

I have a single room but no hallway. I wear a hat of grass or dried straw. I live in forests, beaches, and wild mountains. I am a home, but I use no bricks.

A ribbon of silver, flowing and clear, guiding the small fish and whispering cheer. It bends and it twists, through forest and glen, a path never-ending, again and again.

I have thorns, but I'm not a rose I thrive in arid deserts Think of me as an organic pincushion