Early yesterday morning, the big noisy sun was just cresting the range, the light salmon and pink sunrise cast against the pale blue new-day sky.
Far down the icey path at the river were two figures, jumping around and talking and laughing , then standing together and watching the low pink cloud move amorphously upstream, as the slate blue waters washed the opposite way.
One large white bird flew quietly up and around the corner of the old river, as I stepped carefully, inhaling the clean cold air, thinking of nothing at all but this.
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