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Tumbleweeds
Hmmmm . . .
I guess I have an over active imagination, but I'm hearing the creaky old shutter making a rhythmic slapping sound from the breeze coming in from the desert . . . the sound of the occasional crow . . . the squeek of the old rusty windmill that used to run fresh water from the well . . . back in a time when there was life in this town.
Gee, I sure would like to see some folks around . . . even if they are fighting and bickering. That would be a lot better than the eerie quiet . . .
Meadow
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