tohlfer
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This is the way of it. The storm comes and follows a fickle path. It takes whatever’s in its way. It takes the bird, the bird’s nest, and even its song. It takes the tree and the clear sky. It takes the quiet and it takes whatever you were worried about an hour earlier. It takes and it shoves with big hands.
But it can’t take the grass. And that’s the way of it.
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