The land is bare and desolate; a vast stretch of emptiness with no end. All around is harsh, cold ground. There is no variance in the color. There is no life.
Or is there?
Far in the distance is a spot of color. Green. Life. A small plant has pushed itself up through the hard ground. Slowly it grows a little larger, its tiny tendrils stretching out, reaching towards the glaring blaze of the sun.
Over time a gentle rain falls and the plant grows taller and stronger. Days pass and then it happens - a bud appears. Before it has the chance to open, a bitter wind sweeps across the land, blowing this small life with all its might. The plant sways precariously yet stays standing tall, unaffected by the wind.
Then comes an angry storm. Lightning flashes, thunder fills the air, heavy raindrops beat down upon the ground and mercilessly bend the little flower with their force.
The storm fades away into the West and all is silent. The flower, bent to the ground by the fury of the wind and rain, begins to straighten. Little by little it pulls itself up as its single bud bursts into bloom.
Time goes by and with it, softer winds. They gently caress this little flower, this spark of life in such an empty place, scattering its seeds across the land.
The land is vibrant and beautiful; a vast stretch of color with no end. There is life.
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