The stalks and furrows on the road to Gra eclipse the low slung buildings of the town, save for the steeple and the mansard roof of the counting house. There is no gate nor arch to greet new arrivals. Like all cities that burst suddenly from the pastures, Gra is sudden and terse and purposeful.
In Gra, there are many small plots with brief, one-story houses of wondrous variety. Then there are medium-sized lots, with larger buildings and courtyards and gardens, and lastly, great big plots filled with apartment houses and mansions and fountains. The farm hands enter the garden plots and fields beyond the city. There the strange variation repeats, and the fences and the plots of each varied regularly for miles on each side, as though the landscape had been divided in that way for miles on all sides.
Gra is one measure of land. As it grows, its pattern repeats endlessly like a great colorful quilt across the landscape.