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April 10, 2013
Cold rain drips through the racks. The smell of clay pots. Arranging them, pulling them forward to another day. I gripped the ladder, staring out at the bleak skies, and made my way down, into a corner to check my phone. She called but didn't leave a message. She's been calling everyday for a month, often with a question: Did you call? Often she'll fish for words while I listen. I get impatient, choosing them for her or responding with a bewildered 'ok'. As I help usher in new life I can only think about the slow progression.