Dot a dot dot.
The hardwood was chilly beneath you.
Dot a dot dot.
The greyed sunlight tried desperately to caress you, seeking an opening through each crevice, gently pressing against your arched back.
Dot a dot dot.
The windows were misted, your forehead resting against the glass as weary eyes traced patterns in the soil beyond, squinted as you glanced up into the horizon swirling in smoke and abalone.
Dot a dot dot.
The rain is good, you ventured. The rain brings life to the gardens, gives life and hope to all the creatures sharing the same sky.
Dot a dot dot.
But after one of the wettest years on record, with no end to this warmth in sight, you were growing mildly restless.
Dot a dot dot.
You missed the snow.
Dot a dot dot.
You missed winter.
Dot a dot dot.
You missed the flashes of red as cardinals darted from hibernating apple trees to resting lilac brush, missed the frantic darting of russet as the foxes would playf
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