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Reclamation The storm defies everything. Clouds wangle the day into early submission. The rain never forgets, cuts worry lines where streams ran before blasting buried them, carries silt and seed down to hills now stripped into valleys. Valleys piled into hills settle, consume themselves inch by inch. Pulp pines creep to the crumbling edge of a ridge, already top heavy, drawn like bows from leaning to the light. 37 ...

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