The twine was tied tight, but still, the rose bushes swayed, sending petaled perfumes across the land.
We were in awe of the fairy-light fulsomeness of folding clouds.
The rain was a forgotten series of drops.
We are looking forward to dinner, song and macrame lessons.
The martial arts of cuisine met the microbiology of leather bindings.
Where were we? We remember but do not know the place.
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