The beauty of walks

Once upon a time (In a British Accent),

there was a very small English village with intricate footpaths. Some passed manner houses, some passed cows, others passed Seuss trees and others still passed by sites where castles were built. A strange sort of group went walking one day, a Wednesday that is, to catch up on the sun and the air that they missed. It was at the pink hour when the sky looks like paint, when the excited group climbed trees on a hill. Later on they walked down towards a magical white layer, but realizing their direction turned round to aim straighter. The goal of this journey was also for culture, since the only planned stop was a pub not much further. But winding on paths and looking for a castle and plum trees brought the group down some paths that made sense not much longer. The same magical white house appeared behind now, and a drive full of sheep lead them into night darkness. The hours were passing and the group was still laughing when they got to a road and turned around again faster. Passing cows, ferns, trees and fields quicker the happy group found themselves on a car road with some traffic. Their pack moved in formations with one back light flasher, when they got to their own pub, across from the organic research center.

The night was not close to over, for when they home rice and salad was made to devour and a story was told outside in star shower.

They slept happily the nights after,
the end