Nature/Nurture

img_3024Will I remember the sun in the morning in November, the sun that barely warms, that lights just enough early to show our grey breath as you softly cough cold air out of your lungs? The leaves old and dead, crunch from decay, crunch from chill. Will I remember the anticipation of winter, the anticipation of spring? The rebirths, the rebirths, the rebirths. The welcoming of our children to a new day. As we await the new lesson, the replenishment of hope, and the fulfillment of our definition—the world as it fills in and adjusts around us, the colors in the continue reading…

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