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PGR

February 26, 2014

I pull my legs up into my office chair and await the coming of evening. One shade at a time, the blues of dusk settle in behind the patch of woods before me and make of these trees, framed by the white casement, a tableau, one in which the original landscape has been wiped away to leave nothing more than the black remnant of some network of columns, passages and branches in its place. I leave when this itself has been wiped away by night.

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