A few words in the landscape, planting familiarity. Iffy franchise correlating water in freshets with flawed bounty. Sometimes the engagement falters. If not feathered with fishes, the stream may perchance effect under-radicalized situational landscape. A beaver might start something with earnest application. Progress heralds lack of progress by simple elongation of watery raiment. This stream can be recognized as a rivulet of spent snow or some equal upheaval in short time. A stream could just bolster the time you put your foot in, deep as exciting. Or mud reproves the docile days. Where do you stand when you seem to be standing? Fair resonance in time for the word of ever. In your time, that is, as the reminder comes to you. The stream in its station passes you by.
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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