The paving stones had adorned the hill for generations, their once flat surfaces paying tribute to those soles as pebble does to the gentle flow of a river.
The paving stones were colours and sizes that suggested that they arrived by musical conductor instead of steady hands. Sarah would imagine that the man who placed each one as carefully as a puzzle-maker, had a sweet serenade in his soul.
The earthen hued stones bring a warmth to eye and soul. There they are in the summertime absorbing the sunny rays only to return them in the evening starlight. There they are in the brilliance of winter, sequinned by ice to shine under cloudy and clear skies just the same.
The paving stones make geometric slopes in eclectic randomness; they are the Alps made anew for the sweet beetles who call them home.
Between the paving stones comes blooms so bold and tall, giving of their aroma to the summer-infused breeze. For these seeds of humble size and hue are the ninjas of the botanical world, born to shout loud of their graffiti-petaled beauty.
The paving stones appear to have grown so organically into this mosaic of shapes and colours. It brings art to the eyes and brain, as if the laughter of the maker was there in the pattern.
A community of stones pave the way to the great house; though it is quite an ordinary size of dwelling. We call it such because of the history of the house, because of the great poetic words that penned within. Just to touch the stones to the soles of one's shoes is something electric, ordinary and extraordinary all at once.
Paving stones carpet the earth, supported so evenly by the soil. They are sweet chalky hues in the dayshine and a deeper vibrant colour in the rain.
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