Key pointed his burned bread at where the old yellow road grader reclined in the bright sage like the rusted skeleton of a creature as primitive and forgotten as the ioslated plateau.
Five Skies, Ron Carlson (p. 54)
Maybe only a single color is named in that sentence (two if you’re fussy about sage) but the whole image is so lush and it wants to feel like a run-on but it isn’t but damn if it doesn’t match the Idaho landscape setting. So good.
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