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For the love of birds

May 23, 2009
By SARAH HATFIELD

The morning was misty, that morning fog that envelops the trees, and lies across the water like a down comforter. The sunlight was bright, but diffused, as if a private battle was occurring between the elements for the rights to morning. My dad was driving, I must have been, oh, I don't know, 10, maybe? He was drinking coffee, I was absorbing everything with the intent and the priority of a kid - colors and sounds and little things that loom large in the eyes of youth.

 
 

 

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