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June 6, 2009
It's windy back in the Valleys, trees suffering under the strain, wheat, already golden, moving like animal fur. I run down the road and feel liberated, wind wildly strong. There is the familiar smell when I lie down, familiar warmth, I snuggle and breathe in deeply, so comfortable, magical, heavenly moment this, comforting touch, warmth and safety as the house shakes as if in fewer, the windows ring; the wind howls in a low, brutal voice on the staircase. Every so often a door bangs close, and I half-open my eyes, sharp mid-day sun, warmth, and the wind.