The Distant Joke
The storm did not arrive so much as it fell out of the sky, a sudden and violent unraveling of the atmospheric fabric that had held the high plateaus of the Scottish Highlands in a state of brittle, deceptive calm for weeks. It was a Tuesday, late November, and the air had turned the color of bruised iron, thick with the scent of wet heather and the metallic tang of impending electricity, a...
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