The Meadow

He walked along the meadow, dragging his feet, rustling the grass, and observing on the dust that covered his boots; now he took colossal strides looking to hold to the footprints left on the meadow through the mowers, then he counted his steps, calculating how on the whole he have to stroll from one strip to an additional to stroll a mile, then he stripped the flora from the wormwood that grew alongside a boundary rut, rubbed them in his palms, and smelled their pungent, sweetly bitter scent.

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