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.
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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