In the greys of the cobblestones are a pastel rainbow of hues, as were born of some undiscovered impressionist, a masterpiece hiding in plane sight.
Cobblestones, placed by the loving hands of centuries gone by, build the pathways that carry us onward this day. Upon them both hurried soles and horses hoof echo in sweet gratitude.
The cobblestone upon the sun-warmed alley brings warm and friendly memories. For these brown hues of soulful ambience speak as a visual poetry. They speak of the gold that lives within, of earthy forest paths, of wintry hearths and pink-russet sunrise.
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