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A slow interval of heat plots the days. Into dull moments they blindly accede and I yearn to see the comfortable face of winter and feel its beautiful suede. Shortly before dusk a high bank of cloud receives on its peak the rays of the sun like a perfect resort spoken aloud where arrival resolves two into one. Suddenly awake inside night’s recess I turn to the window expecting dawn but despite my wishes there is darkness; I lie in the darkness wishing it gone. Like a jet at the top of the runway every transport begins with a delay.