Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Clumps of wet snow hung heavy in the boughs of pine trees, and the angled down across the trunks in dusky streaks. One breath, spring coming, life in the air, the wet breeze as the sun goes down and the forests deepen, full of things you'll never see, shadowy half animals shuddering awake in the unknown, roaming the hidden wilderness, whispering in a dead language across the span of centuries,

everything is here that was elsewhere.


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