WHEN COLORS ARE NOT THE PROPERTY OF THINGS

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Tamed nature makes you afraid of real nature. Alleys in city parks, no matter how winding, will never settle the fear of a path in a forest or by a lake. The contained force of a storm in drops, no matter how big, seen falling from a window up high of some building, will not do as the slowly coming of dark clouds from beyond hills, mountains or the see, when colors are not the property of things but in the eyes as the fields turn into hues of green, gray and black, as the echo of thunder, now ravaging other areas, gets muffled then booming then roaring, before it all passes by quietly in the end, only to let it be known that it just wasn’t meant to be – this time. Sunlight’s now reflected in patches of yellow and orange and red, on days that are different, on days that are the same.

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