The road was no longer grey. It was green. Grass grew through the cracks in the asphalt. Flowers bloomed in the potholes. Purple. Yellow. White. They nodded in the wind as Ezra walked past. He didn't step on them. He walked on the edges. Where the shoulder was still stone.
He walked from dawn until dusk. He didn't measure the miles. He measured the shadows. When the shadow was behind him, it was morning. When it was beside him, it was noon. When it was in front of him, it was evening.
He carried a bag of seeds on his hip. It bounced against his leg. Step. Step. Bounce. A rhythm.
The landscape rolled. Hills. Valleys. Rivers. He crossed them on old bridges. Steel skeletons covered in ivy. They groaned under his weight. But they held. The Earth didn't want them to fall. Not yet. They were
