#Skyrim npc editor discolored head skin#
#Skyrim npc editor discolored head full#
#Skyrim npc editor discolored head mods#

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#Skyrim npc editor discolored head mods#

Our condition: accepting weР В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р Р†РІР‚С›РЎС›ll outlast the Redwood steeples between whose green needles we used to stargaze.Submit Help Post Submit Text Post Posting Rules FiltersР В РІР‚СњР В РІР‚С›dd, ,, , or in the title of your post so posts can be filtered! Unfilter Using Mods Reinventing our home as a place where we might accommodate the conditions that rage outside ourselves. On the phone with my mother, I heard not her exhales between words, but the chopping blades of a helicopter above my house, one hovering over each valley in the county, waiting for that first sign of discoloration.Р В РІР‚СњР вЂ™Р’Вiscolored are my returns, with backyards wiped dry and 100-ringed stumps as coffee tables. Those trash pick-up days, little reminders for how many remnants of our lives resurface in fly-swarms on green shores. I remember the morning we raced umbrella boats in the high school parking lot, each year more closures with the rising tides, the infiltration of the salty wetlands, it seemed, into our classrooms. Downpouring what-ifs - the alarm that never entered my brotherР В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р Р†РІР‚С›РЎС›s sleeping ears, the kennel cab that never made it to the cat in time.

#Skyrim npc editor discolored head skin#

This cityР В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р Р†РІР‚С›РЎС›s humid cloud pulls sweat out of my skin like the flames that any day could bathe our houseР В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р Р†РІР‚С›РЎС›s cedar shingles in an amber rising rain. His objective realities now my wordsР В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р Р†РІР‚С›РЎС› only entrance, my memories of the west coast abstracted, these New York rainfalls ashen - I once thought my green jacket had greyed in settled chimney smoke. This week, her Sonoma family Р В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р РЋРЎв„ўunder fire,Р В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р РЋРЎС™ our poetry teacher arrives late to Bobst, evacuation orders in the distant future, yet Wallace Stevens dictating the class agenda.

#Skyrim npc editor discolored head full#

An erasure of those San Francisco hills, turned back to dunes, fishing towns back to full schools of fish, and lastly, forests to barren scapes where no Native can hide from pirate, no mouse from hawk. Desire lines will be drawn to the east - refugees in covered wagons, reversing this countryР В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р Р†РІР‚С›РЎС›s already minute history into an erasure. The LA Times just declared this coastal strip inevitably unlivable - the next flame catching on a golden gate power line - this bay no longer a gateway to plates of gold but walls of fire.

I look at the string of 8s and 0s this week and next, cartoon suns and clouds not of fluffy cumulus vapor, but ash - the National Weather Service doesnР В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р Р†РІР‚С›РЎС›t know what to color these clouds. IР В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р Р†РІР‚С›РЎС›m soaked this Sunday afternoon and there is my family, searching the warm refrigerator for the cold on the innermost center of the peaches in the vegetable drawer, to no avail. In these east-coast October storms, my thirst rises, the downpour transporting me to the dryness of my home. We pray for stillness, for nature to quarantine its breezes up north, for this hell-fire to freeze before it melts southward.Р В РІР‚СњР вЂ™Р’В«ut itР В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р Р†РІР‚С›РЎС›s selfish in this would-be apocalypse to wish it doesnР В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р Р†РІР‚С›РЎС›t reach us because, really, in the mustard yellow PG&E map, the dark purple Air Quality Index map, weР В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р Р†РІР‚С›РЎС›ve already been reached. We now share phone calls in the dark, each outage giving us a reason for another early goodbye.Р В РІР‚СњР вЂ™Р’В®very night this week, they sleep in the wind, that eucalyptus we had cut last summer the lone savior, the gap in the forest that would burn without it. Until today, he hadnР В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р Р†РІР‚С›РЎС›t bothered with flashlight batteries, the collapsible fire escape ladder rusting in my motherР В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р Р†РІР‚С›РЎС›s shoe box or the browning brush outside the French doors. Until today, he hadnР В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р Р†РІР‚С›РЎС›t bothered to stack the AmyР В Р вЂ Р В РІР‚С™Р Р†РІР‚С›РЎС›s atop the Progressos atop the Rancho Gordos at the Safeway. During our spring cleaning years ago, my father discovered expired soup cans inside of it. A red bag with a white cross sits by the door. By Maxine Flasher-Duzgunes, Under the Arch Voices Editor