The sky is so clear this morning - it is mirror smooth and razor bright. The larches on Sunrising cut the crisp dawn with their jet black crowns. In the hedge beside the window a blackbird tries out its spring song. The notes rise and flute among the branches. Even in its hesitancy it is perfect...
... but now? Now the rain slants against the landscape. Crystal lances. Sharp and ice-hot. And the rooks don't seem to notice.
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