All the wind bends and sends the feelings through the brain, through my ways; and I feel, in a long way, the cold, solemn relapse of an empty filling in a frightening way, as if all the trees twisted in a so-solemn-cold-tristed love affair. The cold turns brisk, into a frisk, winter bending of salt -- to the assault that I feel when I walk into the reeling cold freeze of my own alone.
This is the prelude to the drawings that I have been working on and will post tomorrow.
-kc
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