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  • Five years, three cities and a town, six apartments.

    Sometimes I thought I might never land.

    When I got here at the crumpled, blackened, ash-covered end of 2010, I had no hope.

    But I did have a prism. I hung it at the front of the house, behind a lace curtain, where it might catch light and paint the walls with rainbows.

    Hope dwindled during 2011. I never saw the rainbows.

    But then suddenly, something broke. Inside me? Outside? I don't know.

    As I sat at my desk early one morning last week, a rainbow lingered on the white-painted wood.

    A rainbow? Where did that come from?

    The entire wall was splashed with rainbows! Drenched -- yes, drenched, violets and yellows and reds streaming across the room!

    It took a long time to remember the prism hiding behind a lace curtain.
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