Can Sunday be anymore perfect? The sun shines through the thick blinds hitting my skin and warming me up. Outside I see leaves race each other only to be stopped my the balding dull green grass. Earth is calm. The rustic reds and auburns and naked branches make me feel safe. Hot tea is the perfect compliment to this teeth stuttering coldness. I bet the countryside looks like heaven today. Horses walk around slowly and without care. These are the days when movies take the place of dinner dates. Can Sunday be anymore perfect?
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