MORNING Brittle leaves, pieces of them lay on the black ice below he sits high on a crumbling wall, crow on a ledge, beneath the fearthered clouds Resting on the dusty stone, three hundred year old fortress, clings to his palms and the sun breaks through the trees bumps off the windscreen, rattling heart of moving metal sits waiting for a green light and the crow drops from his ledge in screach of food.Birth sign: Aries
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