· ᚢᚦᚼᚱᚼᛒᚼᛒᛊᛒᚼ ·

The first of the really long days. Sunrising high and rarely sinking. I'm sitting on the shady front steps, on the big stone blocks. Comforted by the cool weight of cut granite. Holding my right hand to the sun to see through skin. To hollow bones and feather tendons. Overhead

Cranes migrate. Announced by mournful warbling.

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