Like a glamorous and legendary Hollywood vamp strutting across an enormous stage, all about her are froths of white marabou trailing to the ground. Her audience is mesmerized by her pale, ermine-draped, and gently sloping shoulders. Like some Greek goddess of old, thunderheads seemingly loom about her crown, forever threatening and eternally dissipating. Can you guess the name of this radiant being before which all mortal men bend and are helpless as she passes by?
As for me, I particularly adore her at this time of year, lovely to behold in the morning, but even more enchanting and beautiful late in the afternoon. Once in a while she is dark, stormy, moody, and somewhat cool as she embraces me when at last I see her late in the day. But more often than not, she has an ethereal, almost evanescent glow about her so that she…
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