First to rise, just after dawn, I wander through rooms in a part of town most people wouldn't volunteer to live in. Bitter cold again - the coming new year is a big question mark - not entirely lamentable, it just is.
Spire's of dust float across the length of the room, suspended in morning light streaming through frost on the windows - they rise, lifted on unseen currents, and then, simply disappear.
rinsing out
yesterday's cup --
solstice
` ;;;;;;
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