Friday, January 27

This is where it happens;

Breakfast by the Palladian.
Recollecting days spent lamenting over desires lost, left wrecked in the heart of fall.
Trees now shamelessly exposed, yet fixed as if a symbol of vulnerability,
of endurance, of bravery.  

She sipped a cup of freshly brewed, before reaching a tall bundle of knits
that sat clumsily on the kitchen counter. Embracing the gentle, warm fabric,
she whispers,

Live. Be warm.

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