Walden's Graduated Plan

A constant element green as utility rose over the bobbing waters of Walden Pond. Unwilling ducks struck hard. The coarse of change, e tc, microcosm of shifty diseases. A whirled understanding stuck on the branches that could overhang the shoreline into the brisk shadows of something. Something itself proclaimed a new art, just slightly above the waters of Walden. Ineffable fragments sank suspiciously. Toasted ripostes trembled on the yard arm of the 1st pirate ship on Walden waters. Holy shit, that parvenu, clung to some practice of description, namely, that the red sun sank into the crystal clear water of brown pond. How brown it is, says your imagination. But you reply, the pond is sky blue. But the pond avers that blue is capricious and barely saintly, whereas brown keeps the earth whole, so what really should the waters be? A blue funk invades but brown is strong. Green names a day then disappears. The red sun, what a long shot! So we talk of swimming forever in the bloated regimen. Other swimmers had similar earth to enjoy. This Walden Pond imagines itself, and we stick to its facts. Facts such as: mallards with teeth, trees with intention, flickering tadpoles as the time of day. This Walden that inspires a nation (top percentile) to grow a wind of regard, and the apples will fall. Look: summer ended, winter approaches, and the trees may really walk away. Take your plan and enlarge it, the future has a kitten. This kitten swims forever, trailed by bears, pushed to limits, settled in sentence. The word that agreed to the sentence's plan rallied and spoke. It said the water was awesome, even now, like the score the sun takes, on certain autumn days...