landscape and character So there are problems I have settled early, about which I cannot be judged: the long faced monk knocks in the season when bees crawl and he is alone. Whether I open the door. There is a science of goodbye. Colored shirts on the line, summer expired in the afternoon. The scuffed up children's noises barely carry through evening when the burning bush goes up and the palings of broken fences along the river lie down in sand.
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