It’s a fresh morning. And I’m paused by your words, Ms. Oliver. It’s not the goldfinches who urge me to stop on this frigid March day. Nor the whitecaps, compelling though they might be as they press their way towards the shore.
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It’s a fresh morning. And I’m paused by your words, Ms. Oliver. It’s not the goldfinches who urge me to stop on this frigid March day. Nor the whitecaps, compelling though they might be as they press their way towards the shore.