This is not the sea. This is not the ocean. This is not even a body of water. There is meadow upon meadow. The grass is a dehydrated green, merging with yellow tulips at bloom. Hills are in the distance. Or are they mountains? Are they cliffs?
It’s impossible to tell because they are so far, and there is mist, and all around her the wind is howling. It is cold but it is also warm, with grass tall enough to hide the distant bodies of cows.
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