BILLOWS
My little piece of place, to the moments I love, 'neath
the skies I inhabit: the lackluster command of each item
in a hazy dream, a still-life of atmosphere and smoke. Up
high, the elm trees with the oaks rage on, while the blizzarding
wind upstrokes a tick upon the atmosphere. Two people sit
back, hazarding a guess as to what the next move will be,
while around them the gale rages and all things are blown
about. An furious storm of leaves and papers rushes
by.
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