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  • Writer's pictureJames Kidac

Groundhog day

It was a closer one to that of acceptable health. The bed wasn't a sea of thorns and the temperature of the room was above the normal cold and cancel every day that I was accustomed to. Still, wearing all the huge jackets and vests and gloves did not prepare anyone for a gale so fearsome that it took over every ounce of subconscious I had left in that frail body of flesh. I stepped outside, the automatic door barely opening and not waiting for any moment of pause to close. The rain was usual, scattered with glitters of hail, but it was in the wind that some science behind hurricanes was driving fast and furious. it gave me little to chance to get engulfed in its obvious force. it was a hand of nature unlike any in 250 years so the papers and tabloids so truthfully tell in occasion. For every branch that fell every heart sank into a cycle of told fear. It has taken my soul back into the clouds and made sure nothing would be bearable onwards. At least until the body of which I occupy recovers everything it has lost. It is back to basics, rest and recover. It is back to basics, fear and good sense.

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