Sweat built up along his brow like a crowd on black Friday. His ax screamed as it cut the air. Piece after piece of gnarled wood ripped apart with each mighty swing. The ax penetrated the logs fibrous core with strength and practiced ease. The woodsman plowed on. Mostly unaware of his beautiful surrounds. Trees towered over him in an almost perfect circle. Their waxy leaves cast deep, long shadows across the forest floor. All around him the cycle of decay, renewal and life was obvious. Large bulbous mushrooms with heads engorged slid out through the dirt into the humid air...
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