Hanging on to Abigail’s hem.

As Storm Abigail concentrates on the Highlands her peripheral flounces cut through the sullen greyness

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they whip the Eucalyptus tops

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as the last leaves are stripped away

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building up the richness below

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and only lichen can still hold tight to the branches

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Rents in the sky let through the light

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Whatever the weather certain residents go about their normal routines

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