Amongst the white heaps, the silent brilliance of the snow, sweet blue shadows danced along the fence posts. Around the houses, amongst the spindle trees. The garden was filled with bird tables, little hooded ones with pointed roofs. The snowflakes iced them, little seed cakes sitting out in the greying skies. A man walked down the path, bundled in heaps of of dark garments, a lidded hat fending off the weather. He waited until the bird came, it fluttered down to the table, and he fed him from his own gnarled hand.
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