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not in narnia anymore

They kept saying that it would stop, making predictions based on patterns in the wind and unseen stars and archaic interpretations of the behaviors of woodland creatures.

Just a few more weeks, they said. Months ago.

This storm shall be the last, they said.

And then there was another, and another.

And another.

The branches are breaking from the weight.

I keep looking for a lamppost, but I can’t tell east from west without the sun anymore, so I don’t know if landmarks would help.

Even the horizon disappears into the snow.

And there’s nothing in the endless cold to point me home.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

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