The Sunday Whirl

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It seemed as if the huge rock was shaking it’s fist as it loomed out from the cloud bay. Possibly it was a further warning that we had trespassed. Voiceless speak we heard, “no room here for your careless lives. The circle of noisy ravens spoke a story you already ignored. This is the mighty west, you will not blend in. You may slide on our snowy slopes with those scrawny pieces of wood, but we mountains are not impressed. We have been here forever and any machinations to destroy us will not prevail.”

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