Shopping at Target for school supplies takes us into the arms of August, summer’s last great hump. I smell the Ticonderoga pencil shavings already...
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It doesn’t make sense, when the day starts with sunshine and ends, wet and unsettled, grey and cold. It doesn’t make sense, when a friend comes. Rings the bell. Shines the light. Then disappears, shuts the door behind them, to seal in the silence. It doesn’t make sense, at all, the emptiness of a...
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