Egrets present an white ephemeral flash when seen distantly astride their wetland turf. No one who knows them would say egrets talk too much. That storky creature by itself in the muddy realm looks too insular. Maybe they are agnostics or on the spectrum. Everyone has their hobby horse of restriction. We all understand that birds must eat something, even if it is anything. Our Eagle friend looks like no connoisseur. Egrets seem chuff with their feet in the mud, snapping up whatever tidbit in reach. Workers of the world, take a look at yourself. Do you do better than this monstrance in your transaction of the daily deal? Life creates a buttress for non-life. Drouthy summers flatten egret odds. Human error of global proportion, oh well. Morsels lack freshness or existence in the mortal mud dedicated into time loss time. The birds stand by erect and noble in the notwithstanding of marsh.
From the thing itself, beyond seasoned aptness. Life is like living but blurred by you were listening. Aspect ratio telemetry in myriad languages smooth as rocks approaches time to look. Words piece together things or things find words. Endlessness is a choice, written big in words as shiny as geese. Words simply take the time in radiation and radical point. Stein wrote the heft of nothing special, start there or whatever. You can slowly adjust the franchise, commodity's inner workings. Subglacial quips, subliminal washouts, frantic azure in the breeze of frosty Friday: these special sparking hallways slyly enjoin. Maybe you read too much into reading too much. Further on is where you’ll stay.
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