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The Dime
The snow is still falling, the tracks are not yet deep, except of course on the gray-slicked bloodlines of the city automotive. This is the gateway of seasons in Minnesota, the end of autumn's bleeding and the beginning of winter's hidden silence and death. The snow always comes a tad too early for me. Spring grows up fast and summer lingers, all at the right tempo for me. But the sudden white ontop of autumn is never at the right moment for me. I don't begrudge it's coming. I celebrate it. Yet as I've said, my favorite season is usually the season we're in or just about to come into. Winter falls just a tad too fast, before I've fully accepted the dead trees and the fiery, earthy, metallic taste of the air.

I shall take winter inside myself and love silence again.

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I look out the peep-hole of my apt and I see the tops of trucks, white as snow. And for just a moment I think that it is January in Minnesota and I miss home for a second.

My jealousy knows no bounds.
miss ya!

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