A meadow from one icon

First the mark became a library: 1,651 strokes, each measured for its own axis, its length and its family — long edge strokes, fat body strokes, small dabs. An axis cannot be read off the path data; the stroke has to be drawn and measured to know which way it points.

A hill is then no longer a crop but a composition: a drawn dome for the silhouette, a crest of long strokes riding its tangent, and beneath them seven rows of fat strokes whose angle rounds from up-and-out at the crown to straight-out at the foot. Ten of them, five a side, no two alike.

Colour walks a ladder from far to near — teal over blue, green over teal, light green over green — and distant ranks wash toward the sky. Brightness appears only as bloom: a gold stroke the size of a hillside reads as a gold hillside, the same tone in small dabs reads as light on grass.

Motion is per scrolled pixel, never a fraction of the page's length: hills lag by depth and close toward the middle, the clouds move only horizontally — one drifting out, one crossing in, faster than the other leaves.