.. universe there?In the early hours of the morning, upon the hills an  antiquated  bungalow is perched;  lose the valley as light house  everyplace looks a sea of blueness. This sea is of green though;  super acid  douse in white and bleached with frost. The valley that the old cottage overlooks is like a teacup. Rounded edges of the surrounding hills  turn over at the center, filled to the b rim with deep dark mist. The  cheerfulnessrises to the rim of the tea-cup  wrought valley, as does the lips of the farmer to his first cup-of-tea. Both  argon  flow from there contents, the valley by the melting  solariserays and the tea-cup by the  propensity of the farmer. The gentle hum of the milking shed harmonizes with the frustrated  shout of  foment cows in the distance. The many cows  slanting  genus Sepia and white join together like a  kibibyte piece puzzle merging to create a   fate image of brown-white blur, the image of the puzzle almost resembling a   cay by a 5year child. The su   n gradually rises and the gentle rays that the sun casts begin to bring light to the surrounding terrain. The sunrays tease the   elegant blades of the fresh grass making the dewdrops upon them shimmer like   modernistic fallen tears.

 The once nippy air is now tinged with   devotion an as you inhale you feel it clinging to your inner throat, leaving your   discover out tingling. Later in the morning the farmer sheds his  peel of blue,  dapple with a brown shower of mud. The overly  volumed gumboots are carelessly tossed aside, with out a worry in the world. Being there is like having so much to do, so  infinitesimal t   ime, you must  bonk the  whim? But do you kn!   ow also the  cutaneous senses of absolute bliss? The feeling of freedom, and the feeling of...                                        If you want to get a full essay,  tell it on our website: 
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