The clouds are churning up snow today. Swirling within this smudged billowing nebula, that sits in the forefront of the sky. Behind such vestibules of tawny morning, the pale dawn blushes in shades of pink, tinged light through the fractures of the snow promised clouds. It is a sight to behold, a sea of softly bosomed clouds heaving such that their movement opens up windows to the beyond, where the day not so much breaks, but sighs and flushes color upon the translucent cerulean glass. And I watch as morning unfolds before me, the wind's strong arms carrying me through the icy streets. A damp settling deep into my pores, a chill that cannot quite be bundled against. Movement is what I see, what I feel in the bones of my body, and I wonder what movements are coming my way. What songs are sweeping through the halls of the mind.



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