My daily bread.

All at once the gray has set in, though the orange and fading green are amongst the cloud blanket. A cold sets upon us and the heralds of winter in white suit shortly after. Before it sets upon us in totality, an afternoon of fading light. Night comes soon and for what will feel like months.

But in the brightest days, blinded by striking blue against a white sea, the silence comes to usher away the dead. All so the spring can lift them along with the spirits of the rest of us left doing something resembling living. This too, shall pass.

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