Her little white feet are like the pale roots. These priceless days end too quickly, without all the time we want to read and play and sew and walk and talk and bake and dig and decipher. She found two little dead birds in the yard today. Scrawny little pieces of beginnings. We admired their closed eyes and curled up legs. We were not characters in a book. Just two bigger creatures ashamed of the littler ones' early demise.
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