I think of the children who will never know, intuitively, that a flower is a plant’s way of making love, or what silence sounds like, or that trees breathe out what we breathe in.
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Britt Stafford writes from Puerto Rico that she reads all day because there isn’t anyone to talk to, with or about.
Summer in College Town. At 7:30 a.m. eating a bagel with cream cheese at Out To Lunch they discuss getting married. At 5:30 p.m. the same day they are in a lawyer’s office in Raleigh writing their marriage contract. One week later (July 23rd) they sign the contract, in triplicate, and everybody gets a copy. The lawyer’s dog, Gretel, looks on unconcerned.