First Sentence
This winter has been a mild one, snow melted away by noon no heavy gusts toppled elms or cracked cottonwoods-they passed by as if I were in a train watching them from the window, rushing through-everyone around me speaking a foreign language, traveling away from what is broken leaving landscapes of war, people starving, refugees waving for us to help them, homes they once loved in and slept and ate in bombed to rubble. Read the first page
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