December in London. Rustling trees, sweeping gray skies.
Warm golden light spilling from the windows around me.
The wind was strong, cutting through my coat.
My leggings had holes in the knees.
Leaves scuttled past me and the sky darkened as time slunk into early evening.
And I was feeling pensive, uncertain. It happens.
And suddenly, I looked up, and there this was. 
I can't help but find signs in things, whether it's a playing card pressed into the sidewalk,
seeing an animal out of context, or, well, an entire building telling me
not to worry.
Thank you, Tate Modern.
Everything is going to be alright. 

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