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I blóted Thor, Sif, Magni, Móði, and Þrúðr in the back yard with red wine (California, but "French-style"). The dog squeaked her toy companionably by my side, and as I finished the last offering, a train whistle sounded. Otherwise, it was quiet but for damp dripping off the gutter of the house. No wind at all, and an even sunglow in the east.
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