Alone in the quiet cold of the morning, I walk the path to the car. The last few stars glint above my head and maple branches creak. Through gray shadows and tilting tree trunks I drive toward the horizon. As I rise and fall the curves of the road,  sunrise appears and disappears. Orange and red warms the Eastern sky.

The grace of silence descends, pregnant, heavy with hope. In my dreaming, I had forgotten what was Real.

I had forgotten.

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