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  • Doesn't the universe work in such beautifully intricate ways. I am always writing you letters in the notebook I keep by my bed, and you photograph the moments in which you receive them. We call it parallelism. A tidal wave on your coast, a hurricane on mine. In this instance, you find a bird gazing out your cabin window two time zones west and on my lawn on the Eastern Seaboard, the most stoic little bird stands at attention just beside my driveway, under cover of grass grown too quickly.

    I got close enough to lift him up in my hand. And when I turned, finally, he was all of a sudden gone.
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