The snow shimmers atop the rolling hills, which appear as frozen waves on the landscape. The snow itself betrays its gradual motion as it is moved by wind; it swirls past obstructions like rock and weed. Every patch of land is dazzlingly complex, whether one looks at the soil and sparkling snow, or the bush that reproduces itself as it is pushed across the land by wind and settled into open soil, stretching on for miles in tessellations in every direction. And every patch of dazzling complexity is repeated in every direction endlessly, and so it is too upwards into the sky and downwards into the earth.
With such awe and reverence, the fence, which attempts to circumvent this landscape and impose itself into the consciousness as all that matters, becomes a hilarious sheen on the surface of it all.
