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This is my studio for exploring my work. Consider these drafts.

But it did not last

The winter. This time of feeling like everything's stuck in place, like the clothes will never come off, like I have nothing good to say or write, like the time for moving will never come.

It's not quite over, yet, but I can hear the first quiet chords of what is to come now.

The ice came, but it did not last.

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