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days like this, when the taste of aged whiskey chases the humid scar of autumn snow from my face and the room beckons for the slow smell of woodsmoke to tell of safety from the cold night and the sense of togetherness with tghe ones we love, days like this when we leave our fingerprints on axes, glasses and our loved ones cheeks, these days I love for showing us imperfect in the face of nature, yet secure in our fallability; rising to the test whilst perfectly aware of our lethal faith.
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