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  • The day I left the Maison du Cidre, I went to sit in a patch of land cleared but not used, for a garden. I was asking myself, judging from the heartbreak I was suffering having decided to go back to Toronto, whether this place and its family were where I should return to as soon as I possibly could.

    The answer that came was a tiny brown frog.

    The frog hopped closer and closer to me, until it stopped just beyond my feet, and seemed puffed up in warrior-purpose. It sat in quiet contemplation, watching me as I imagined my return and the consequences returning would have on my other life in Canada. As I sat, I felt the frog waiting there, no larger than a tablespoon, to offer his wise council.

    I have decided that a garden seems a perfect thing to do with one's life.
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