Thursday, January 06, 2005

January 6, 2005

An icey morning. I see footprints in the grass left by some wandering soul during the night. The path of devastation leaves shards of broken frozen grass. Silence has taken over the world and each blade of grass and each branch of every tree is encased in a crystal casket from which no sound escapes. I wait for the sun and the return of warmth.

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