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Gold, purple, orange, and white light pours over the autumn sky. Dawn breaks later this morning than it has in the past few days as winter solstice draws closer. Tattered and frayed edges stare up at me, beckoning me to fill their lined pages. It is said resistance is futile and so, as I sit, I let the sky fill my page with its own infinite beauty as I accompany it with my words. That golden globe rises higher into the autumn blues and the beauty on the page fades, leaving only my words to remind me of the marvel witnessed this day and all the days before this one. Yet, something sets today apart from those other days, something not yet tangible, something surreal, something grand. Purring comes softly from my lap, and as startled as I am, I refrain from quick movements. There in my lap lies a cat; calico-colored like the morning sun. It curls into a ball and drifts off as I stroke its fur, purring all the while. I return my gaze skyward in time to see the ‘V' of geese dip below the trees. It seems late in the year for migration, but I’ve taken late vacations myself. I sip from the amaretto coffee I made this morning and enjoy its warmth just as the cat I call Jodie is enjoying the warmth of my lap. I watch the New England countryside out of my window until my coffee cup is dry. I glance down at my page and sigh. Such beautiful words and elegant prose the morning has helped me write, but alas, I have no way to apply them. And so another page finds its way into the garbage.
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