Ahead is a bush. It is caged by an iron enclosure, buds lining its bosom. Details are hard to discern; all around, darkness shrouds the bush making its details vague and obscure, blocky and vulgar. So, you take a few steps closer and the darkness seemingly parts. The bush seems to shine, even, now that you are close to its radiant edge. A pine-scent wafts off of it. Examining its limbs, you see that it is healthy and well-tended. Looking down, however, you see nothing but stones as its resting place. Its life, like so much in this place, remains a mystery to you. Slowly walking backward to your original spot, you see the nondescript details return the bush to a state of indeterminacy.


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