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Far below the ancient light of ten thousand restless stars a gilded midnight wind rustles through an abandoned railroad yard swirling snow into clouds of sweet perfection that settle gracefully upon the crossroads of Colorado.
At sunrise - while the eastern sky is pale yellow - you attempt to describe the scene though the hollow haunted eyes of a poet. But what good are words when words fail you and you just can’t describe how beautiful a moment really is.
So you close your notebook and slowly slip it back in the pocket of your field jacket as the morning light became dusty with snow and an audible silence hangs from the trees forever.
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