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108_0220Waking to the cold fiery hell of a December morning. An ancestors attempt at resettlement where the grass is green upon arrival and soon crunches dead under the descendents foot. A paradise given in a prophecy and erased by sprawl. A high summit, the sunrise blocked by power lines and absent of a chimneys smoke. A red sky of fire glistening off the crystalized mowed lawn. Nothing felt but a deep chill to the bone and a want of warmth from the rising sun and its fiery red sky.

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