"this is winter for sure", Ol' Man Gutter says, squinting from the juxtaposition of hazy sunlight through leaveless and fir, kicking dust into my downcast visage.
there seems to always be something advancing from the darkness. something that cannot be stopped. and like ants scurrying futility from an enormous god-shaped shoe, we engage in our jittery primal dance of avoidance.
that shoe has a name, and that name is NATURE.
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