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August 21, 2017
It was the same as before. The deer crossed the road at 7:15 every morning and again at 7:15 every evening. The sun rose from the same place and set in the same place every day. The leaves hung dappled for autumn but never fell to the ground. The wind had ceased to whisper and the stream did not flow. I even went out with a canoe paddle and tried to make the stream flow again, but it merely swirled around the paddle and otherwise ignored me. No one came to visit. I began to suspect there was no one.