Swirls, tributaries, churn, remind us winter remains. Winter remains. Tree tops, Crows anchored Winds crow Crows blow. Window panes So old, branches blue, brown-green grey, a tired look into the future. Branches are tendrils with time, dirtied, slow paced, hardly steady, like drooped eyes shallow tongue tender chest aching heart. Strange day, strange weather, rather than marching, marking time, counting, waiting. Grey glimmers turn to brittle rainbows turn to fragile twigs turn to...
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