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  • In the fictional and fickle competition of material life, I win.

    Here I sit, on an old wooden dock with a small sailboat tied to its side floating on a stilling lake. Apart from the humming lawnmower, chirping birds and chatting adults, all is quiet. The sun has fallen behind the hill that looms over the lake. And yet it lights up the billowing clouds slowly drifting North and the stilling water still shimmers. I watch a troop of geese paddle by as one stray goose dodges through the coniferous trees. Bugs twist and turn above the water as fish briefly surface to snag a dusk dessert.

    I watch. Thus, I win. Life is good.
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