Down at Sealy Tarn, which by then was doused in the searing bright light radiating from the sheet of white below, i wondered down past the mini lake to the very edge of the terrace. You could sit there literally touching the cloud, with nothing but air below and around you. Feeling all precarious in this epic spot. This must be what being a bird is like? ( Except for a Kiwi bird. They can’t fly, stupid things ;) )
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