It seeks its food at the foot of the falls, where the water boils in fierce fury; where the current swirls and leaps among the boulders; and where the stream rushes with all its might down the rocky channels.

With its muscles, fine as tempered steel, it forces its way against the strength of the stream--conquering even the fifty-foot downward pour of a cataract.
Its strength is a silent strength.

It has no voice other than the voice of its own beautiful self.

And all its gleaming colors you may see, in the morning and in the evening, tinting the mighty heads and shoulders and sides of the hills themselves.

And so, the first gift that I brought you--fresh from the mountain's heart--was the gift of the mountain's strength.
"The second gift was gathered from bushes that were never planted by the hand of man.