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  • On the Fourth of July, in the skies over Boston, they circled, forcing us to look up. How could you not with the call of those birds? The tails blew out, graceful and fluffy, but their call arrived before they showed themselves in the sky above in perfect formation, like the geese that migrate south. We watched them circle and circle and circle. Navies in crisp white suits with the tall ships in town, but in the skies, we had Blue Angels.
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