A strange yellow evening - mild, early Autumn, quiet - along the banks of the swollen Ware River. I'm alone and stop the car, walk down onto the rocks, and listen for a little while. I picked corn for the first time in many years today and noticed that even my youngest sibling's hair is starting to go grey. We all celebrated our mother's upcoming 80th birthday and, in the background, worried for one of us who couldn't be there because he was in the emergency department waiting to be admitted. My daughter and youngest son learned to pick corn today and probably had thoughts of their own regarding the way things move.
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