He strolls through his garden, taking care to gaze at each and every fruit, tree, and plant. The morning dew hangs in the air, giving off a kind of suspension in time, a mysterious feeling that something else hangs in its mist. Gently, carefully even, down a worn but kempt path he walks, each step accompanied by a small marvel and intrigue over a tiny, budding flower, or a bite of a ripe and juicy fruit. "Mmm," he nods, as the taste of a peach draws a crooked smile on his face.
He veers off path onto a damp meadow. By now, the dew has settled on the surface of the grass. Still surveying his surroundings in admiration, he slowly strolls towards a patch of land patterned with dirt, which rolls on the land in waves, each depression holding life. Inquisitively, he lowers himself to scoop out a small, bright-red tomato nestled in its vine. Dusting and cleaning it off with his hands, he brings it to his mouth. His brows furrow at first, and quickly jump in curiosity at the sudden burst of flavor, a mix of sweet and sour. He smiles and nods, but concludes that it will take some getting used to before he likes this one.
The day continues and his exploration takes a pause. He sits down on the roots of a tall, sturdy tree standing on land's edge. He inspects it, his eyes traveling through its ridges and his hands contemplating its pulse. Its branches spread out, stretching towards the heavens, and its roots consume water from the river and nutrients from the soil. Thankful for its shade, he leans against its smooth trunk. After a brief moment, he takes a cue from the tree, bending towards the river to drink some of its water. He nods again, and stands.
A little more trekking and exploring, and the light begins to fade as he decides his day's excursion has come to an end. He takes one last look and beholds the scenery before him. He remembers the sights, the tastes, the scents of the day and, his heart full, nods one last time.
He decides that it is good, and wraps up the third day, the earth's last without the sun.
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