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The shimmer of frost sprinkles against the morning light
The hardened ground softens as it did the day before,
And before, and before
Cycling through the daily process
Every set of pupils are unaware of such phenomenon
The salty air can almost be tasted,
As if freshly baked fries were sprinkled with cured salt from the doorstep
The numbing sand of the northwest beaches validates the
Inaudible shouts to leave that are silenced from the blustery winds
The charging howls of the crashing waves duet the
Sand piercing the skin of an exposed hand
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Time and time again, the fleeting horizon dips upon the churning sea
Dusk sheets the view, tomorrow all renews
Contact columnist Patrick Bottin at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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