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Something Greater Than Myself

I amble down the slope into the fields, plastic bin in hand – for basil, or lettuce, or kale – and descend into the layer of cool, moisture-laden air lingering in the low part of the farm. At the bottom, over the pond, the early morning has gathered as much of this dampness into itself as it can hold, and it overflows in gossamer veils of mist hovering like a dream over…
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by: Logan Egan – Autumn 2016


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