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August 16, 2021

The morning looks hazy, the only sun breaking through shows shades of orange. Fires. Smoke. Wind. carryting the trauma to here, to the valley where is sits. It’s not unlike reading, doom scrolling, social media. Ingesting the strife, unhappiness, and trama seen through the eyes of many, of strangers. That mess sits with you, carried to you by a platform, and settling in your valley Making it hard to breathe. Hard to see. Hard to think. Hard to see.

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