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  • How quickly it can change. Now, there is a space. Windows before me. Shelves behind me, beams above. Quiet, save the NPR and the occasional car that passes down our short street. When my mind wanders my gaze catches the sky, broad and open, that surrounds our home.

    The daily morning fog is a gift; I give myself totally to work, feeling like the day won't call me out to play.

    "Thursdays," she said. "There's no fog on Thursdays. You'll see." And she is right. By 9:30, there is sun in my nook, and I am writing in the light. I've escaped the crevice for now. My new place, where there's nothing else to do, makes me feel like sitting with my coffee and my words is play.
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