I love the word thicket, the way sound and meaning match so exactly. I think this is random underbrush, rather than a true thicket, but I'm calling it that anyway because I like the sound.
And I like the way winter reveals the chaos of all this growth, each branch elbowing the others aside as it reaches for the light.
I'm climbing out of what felt like thirty-six hours straight of deep, dreamless sleep, and the world is startlingly vivid this morning.
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