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Through Clouded Lenses

Life, when looked at through clouded and dirty lenses presents an image sans expectation. Its an image that is being seen without its intended glory. Its an inate form of voyuerism. Spying on the grey sky without cause or consequence.
Funny things happen when you stare at nothing in particular. You notice things in a lot more detail. Stains on glass become more apparent. The colors of benches become more striking. The outstretched naked arms of the tree in the yard take on a sinister form, like the devil from nightmares half forgotten.
Staring outside windows, amidst a winter storm, when all that a soul yearns is solitude and warmt, brings you closer to who you really are. The comfort in your own company is unmatched. The din of the crowds has retreated and all that is left are the drunken ramblings of the wind. I could listen to it all night.

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