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January 5, 2008
Iím dull, eyes out of phase, the coffee plug not fully inserted into the side of my head. The houseplants are dripping yellow leaves melting across thick cables.

Where have you gone now? The snow is falling away from the mountain and into the valley. It is calling out to the lodges it has left behind, ghostly snow hands raised, a forearm, an elbow. The heat-seaking lodges are painted on the cliffs silent, unlit, and asleep. The fog crept away last night. We saw it slipping through the glen, rough forms pushing one another across the road like tough boys.