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A Note On “Notes from the Tilt-a-Whirl,” by N.D. Wilson

Stand and stare into the sky. Crane your neck back so far till the only thing within your gaze is crystal blue. Or maybe it’s crimson rouge, shot through with streaks of merigold, that fill your vision. Perhaps it’s the night itself opening like a chasm above, ready to engulf you and the earth in…

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