Wearing the sky on my head.

Net curtains of rain brush against my face. The old beech tree brought down in the storm lies across the track, its bark the skin of a great whale grimly reflecting the cloud. I poke a puffball with my toe and watch a plume of spores cough in the gloom. The day feels hollowed out and hungry, yet I walk wearing the sky on my head and the earth on my feet. All will be well.

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