2 lines
413 B
Text
2 lines
413 B
Text
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The lake at six in the morning was perfectly still. He sat on the dock with his coffee and his bare feet just above the water. A single loon called from somewhere across, and was answered. Mist lifted off the surface in slow columns. He was not waiting for anything. He was not hurrying through anything. The lake, the light, the warmth of the coffee against his palms — it was all one thing, and he was in it.
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