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There is something woven deep into the texture of my soul that cooks up calmness from the simple recipe of sitting outside at night, listening to the croaks and screeches, feeling the cooling air and watching the lightning bugs dance in front of me. I can stand on the deck behind my house, peering out into the hickory and maple trees that descend beyond our wooden fence into a gully – we called it a “holler” before I was educated – and feel as close to being at one with nature as I can get.
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