This Morning

At 8:00 I looked out the window toward the gate. The sky was the palest grey. The long magenta streak of bougainvillea, high up in a eucalyptus tree, was also greyed to a delicate pastel. Everything was moving, branches and leaves and petals. Then all movement stopped, under a soft rain. Now the sun has returned as if it never left, steam has stopped rising from the ground, crows are croaking. We are back to normal.

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