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I am at my hideaway. My rest. My place of refuge. Ever since I was nineteen, it’s been my place of refuge. Ever since I was a child, I’ve spent time here with my family and visited in my dreams.

Moss covers the limbs and trunks of the maple trees. Their leaves are green tinged with yellow. Rhododendrons lie dormant. The broad lawns are as brilliant a green as fall rains can make them. And the rock wall. It is the same as it ever was. Steady. Stable. For ever and always.

The air is warm. And I wonder, wrapped here in my truck, will it stick around? The sun shines through the autumn leaves. Maybe. Maybe it will.

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