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Tuesday, 16 February 2016

Port hills

Where the rustling wind blows through the misty forest.
Where the wind makes the trees whistle as the air rushes through and makes a huge whooshing surround sound.
Where all the trees sway together as a choir.
Where the city centre is decorated with the sun 
When it rains the hills are having a shower
and the clouds float above. 
That's my happy place.

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