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June 30, 2006
The view at the window is empty but for the sky. You come here on quiet afternoons, sitting with a book nestled in your hands, alone in an empty room. What do you see in that sky that moves you so?

The soft summer days rush past like an ocean wind; there is no way to hold on to them. Memories are caught like dust in the light of the sun, transient and fleeting, fading into dreams, into nowhere. The lazy clouds roll past the blue skies and continue to where the sunlight ends.

She is waiting in the air.