-- The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien
Mostly drizzling though sometimes pouring, the weather is not what I am used to, leading me to pout and demand that my precious sun be unveiled, right this instant. Curse the cold and all its accomplices; a mere sixty-five degrees will cause my teeth to chatter uncontrollably, despite the four layers I wear. I
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And...whoa, that was deep. Unlike my random weird entries.
Except, I love the rain. And the sun. And the clouds. Clouds have character.
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