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¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ I FOLLOW THE TIRE TRACKS WEST. THEY GO ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ PARALLEL WITH THE RAILROAD, WITH ITS ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ ENDLESS MIRRORS LOOKING KINDA OILY. AN ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ INCREDIBLE POWER BOUND THERE... THERE'S ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ A WIRE FENCE TO SEPARATE THE TWO ROADS. ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ EVEN THOUGH THERE'S A FOGGY QUALITY TO ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ THE AIR, THE PATH I FOLLOW IS GLOWING. ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ A YELLOW-GREEN MOSS HAS TAKEN HOLD ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ WHERE THE MACHINES WHO MADE THESE ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ TRACKS ONCE DISTURBED THE CLOVER FIELD. ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ WE'RE OFF THE SEASON WHEN THE BIRDS ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ SING BEAUTIFULLY. THESE DAYS IT'S JUST ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ SCREECHES, OR CALLS FOR HELP. ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ I THINK OF THE JACKDAW I MAIMED ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤ YESTERDAY. I FEAR THE DREAMING GATE. ¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤¨¤
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