She went out of the door into the barren front yard where the ground met her feet. She missed the soft ground of the mountains that was rich with growth. There was plenty of mud on the roads here, as in the streets of the village. But on the mountains the soft soil sank under her feet, and in it grew small flowers and plants she liked to pick in the spring. |  G. Lumpkin |
FRIDAY: My Book World | J. M. Coetzee's Diary of a Bad Year
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