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BOOKS ....... FREE STORIES ....... TALES OF TAM YS ....... ARCHIVE ....... EDITING ....... SARAH


If you asked me to describe a gentling sky, I would tell you about a storm. Not the thunder itself but the lush dark of the hour before, the cooling deepening shadows and the quiet. If you wanted me to point out home, I would have you wait until an autumn wind blew from a north-west horizon late in the morning or at night. This is what happens to a shy child who learns how to be from damp forests and old hills rather than other children in the playground with all their arcane, joyful rules.

This morning is luminous windows and bulbs of rainclouds. I should go out, but keep telling myself the weather will turn any moment, because I want to stay in. There are no wayside flowers to go walking for. There are no magical people to meet.

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