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From my Porch an Intercession Under the umbrageous arms of Yggdrasil squirrels are combing the nutted earth. There's a bird, and I don't know its name, sings a song both plaintive and plain. Its natural beauty unnerves me. I look up from my Josephine Tey to remark upon the variegated world. It's all a carpet leading to the celestial, a flying carpet. I make this a letter to the Lord. A prayer that this all goes on, even the rot, the aging, the whole damn attrition thing.
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