Treadmill Walk

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A song at my finger tips, sun warming this space, shadows flying down the floor (and some smash into the glass, and break their necks), following the green up the hill, a form stretched out, the window rattles with the wind.

Sitting in the guesthouse's reception after serving breakfast and clearing out tables. Sunny Sunday, no sign of winter.

A rumbling in my head like a truck going down our dirt road.

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