Story 51: InBetween
I thought about the message an old high school friend recently sent to me. He’d been trail running through the woods, and found himself on a bed of feathers. In my imagination I saw hundreds of molting birds, shaking their soft wings. But no, he said, these weren’t feathers, it was cotton weed, which doesn’t, in my mind, make the scene any less beautiful. (See Links 35)
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