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  • February morning in Italy: A cappuccino, good book, cigarette, and a window. Sitting in the corner at a café, brooding over ice covered mounts.

    Surveying the bay as a slow moving storm slips overhead. Watching old fisherman release their nets hoping to catch this evening’s meal. Seagulls soar above, watching; their way so simple.

    Their home is where they choose. It could be a rock on the shore, a ship’s mooring lines, a car’s roof, or a blanket of air across the vast, never-ending sky.

    I sit listening to conversations surrounding. Words of ignorant life, but so sweet the views from the inside, not knowing that I sit smiling, wanting only a glimpse.
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