The aroma of the mud was the sonnet of my serenity, a promise of the spring to come after winter relinquished her grip.
The mud was a symphony of rich and sweet browns, each of them brought to new strength by the recent rain.
Through the green of the fast growing spring grass rises the tracks of the earth, those pathways made by the bicycles over the rain washed ground. It emerges strong and rich, the kind of brown that soothes and compliments the blue sky.
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