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I don’t want to know what tomorrow brings, how it all turns out, how we might, at the end of it all, be rich or poor, lonely or surrounded, fine with it all or disappointed.
I don’t want to know the count of the stars in the sky or if they might fall one day.
I don’t want to know if this is it or if there’s more, because what is more than this?
At the end of the day all I want to know is the way the sun cast shadows and makes the manes on the horses glow like haloes in the pasture outside my window.
I want to know this. I always want to know this…
And the crunch of the leaves beneath my boots.
The smell of the sage.
The red on the berries, a gift of color that stays with us through winter.
The sound of…
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