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Life and times

—May 16, 2013

Words count.

Words mark our path in the dust.

I rose in the east and learned the words. I set for the west and bit by bit learned the bytes and words of the boxed beast. A dusty path.

I write of the loves of my life: my wife, my land, my home, a tree, times passed. We live in a home we call Stone’s Throw. Our yard has a score of trees raised from pups with wash water.

When the words come, I write now and then, for grins. Times fly.

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