I don't think there can be anything more beautiful than a winter morning. Specially when it has rained the night before.
Sometimes I wonder what I am doing in this concrete jungle. Surrounded by these tall buildings that compete with the not-so-tall mountains. Surrounded by clothes that flutter on the clothes lines along with the trees that sway and leaves that delicately shiver. The distant motorcycle horn that drowns the chirping of birds. The early morning breakfast bustle that breaks the morning reverie.
I should be somewhere else. Not here.
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