Just some gravid green in space between. Moss brings plenty. A typical species can be seen above. Like you, Sphagnumcan be commercially harvested as peat. And in the end, period. A Coltrane of excitement decides just edges of the spreading mat. Thus mapped, you may feel equipped. Moss offers a simple breath, with imagined outskirts. Dashing forever just gives your name away. Resident moss expounds nothing beyond the very tract. You get used to knowing this.
The work becomes chiding of sunlight. The work is elegy and shaded. The principle ciphers as a god, in the way transience is purpose. Transience works this brief, ending fields, making trees concern. The hell of halting midway identifies the work of burning thru. Forever makes a sign. Sign makes worthy. Indeed the tramp of feet forward concludes any sentences but suggests more. Long sentences, stupid words. The caroling heard by Dante, brilliantine remorse for a better tide. The long road up from down, and turned around. The work then becomes the work now, as stained glass similitude. Anxious in the class structure of catastrophe, the baying song over all. Nothing to do but be done. Ruskin gave you papers to remind you. Slow battering concedes the earth in time. Time being functional and oblique. The worker inside sees the nation by exhalation. Transitive connection sports of culture. The class that ends becomes the class that begins, both left and right.
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