A winter-drunk wind sweeps the town. Besides the usual tomfoolery, the messing-up-hair, the blowing-off-skirts, the shoving-handfuls-of-dust-in-eyes, it changes the season with every gush, whoosh and flutter, handing body-aches and fever with the generosity of a mother. Does one need a quilt yet?- lament the befuddled nights as the winters peek patiently from behind the illuminated curtains of the coming festival.
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