It’s that time. When the sad kids go into hiding. We cling to the beauty because we know it will fade. Our lovers are squirrels. They gather hope for the winter. I am watching my friends dig holes. We are darting our eyes, averting the past while preparing our nests.

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“We are lonesome animals. We spend all our lives trying to be less lonesome. And one of our ancient methods is to tell a story, begging the listener to say, and to feel, “Yes, that’s the way it is, or at least that’s the way I feel it. You’re not as alone as you thought”’.  -John Steinbeck

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