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  • Sometimes in the evening I walk into my room after a day of--what?--stumbling through half-hearted interactions, speeding through yellow lights, hurrying to get--where?--to my next destination so that I can check my e-mail for the nineteenth time that hour so that--why?--I can be assured somebody is trying to get ahold of me, as if I'm the president and I'm badly needed somewhere for something important...and I lay flat on my bed and gaze out the dirty window at the giant maple reaching up into God’s blue yawn while the sun’s fiery red rays spill into my room, across the bed, into the closet. Light. My soul needs to stay fertile for the changes, to never stop being surprised, to never stop saying Oh! and Wow! and Look at that! and so I carve a little space in these late Autumn evenings--in my schedule and my heart--and I lie on my bed and let the light pour in.

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