It has snowed in Wisconsin. A great white blanket stretches as far as the eye can see, dotted with wind mills and little farm houses. One per corner of land, a cluster of trees huddling around each, protectively. The clouds make ripples like a pebbled beach. You marvel at the impossibility of flight, while in your book a man loses his entire family in a fiery crash.
When you wake with a start, you're almost there. The endless stretches of land nestle against mountains towering ever higher, like sheets of crumpled paper beneath the plane. Home hits you like a starburst in your chest. The sun is bright.
Your mind is wiped clean.
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