Warm sun, cold wind. Three chickadees make noise in the lilac’s flaming green limbs. The shadow of a vulture glides slowly across the yard.
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Warm sun, cold wind. Three chickadees make noise in the lilac’s flaming green limbs. The shadow of a vulture glides slowly across the yard.
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My chinchy squinchooing countenance unbeseems to be schlonged by a kranky glitchygloop and a perkily plumpy gooner succoured by a weeaboo.