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Picture of the Day
Wednesday
February 12, 2025
tonight the moon is made of ice, freezing everything touched by its light. air brittle as crystal, feel it on your face, a ballet of prickling needles. dead quiet, every sound crisp as a potato chip, crusty snow crunches underfoot as you approach the creek, walking on windows, the thin sheets crack like glass as boots break through into shallow drained riverside hollows. the rushing water makes no single sound, changes with every step, from high notes where it's broad to roar where stream plunges and narrows, you follow every branching channel, the music of fractals as a million moons dance on the surface, a quivering reflection atop every ripple. so besotted by the clarity of the totality you don't notice your ears have gone numb so you rub with ungloved fingers to restore circulation before making one last round over beslimed ebb tide rocks, the receding perimeter, so slippery every step must be considered, follow a tendril of smoke to promise of hearth and home...
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