The ice travels down the river, pulled by tide and flow. A thin chatter takes place between the edges of liquid and solids. The whispered conversation makes me think of ages past. Of centuries when ice controlled all around here.
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nice words... ice controls a fair amount of my life at the moment. frozen pipes in the cabin x 6 days. i have to melt 5 gallon buckets of solid frozen rain water next to the woodstove in order to flush the toilet. rustic...
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