Morning Miniature 2.17.19

She gazed through ancient bubbled glass at the light behind the mountain, now discernible only as a warning of the coming day, but crystalline still, leaving little of the ridge to the imagination. It was glorious. There rose the peak in its imposing form, clear and perfect, but clamoring for attention with trees and roof lines and poles and wires all akimbo. For how long, she wondered, must I view the world through this lens?

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