Strange day. White cloud fragments floated against blue sky; winds that in winter would have sent us indoors tossed everything. Pointed cedars whipped their spines. Twisted pines revealed how they came to lean, forever imprinted with youthful experience. Bougainvillea enflamed their swaying cedar perches.
It was shabbat so the creaking trunks and shaking leaves were all the more evident in Baka's quiet streets.
And Noa practiced her haftorah for what will be in two weeks.
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