Story a day: 12.28.16

The changing of the seasons made him sad. Not just fall into winter; winter into spring, spring into summer. All changes were ends and all ends brought with them a heaviness like a thick pall.

Rather, he preferred to exist in the midst of things. Journeys churned under their own momentum. They needed never end, not so long as he existed in the moment of them, in the thick of them.

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