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Here. I took a step over the property line and stood on the driveway a while. I heard the radio tuned to CBC, the static from the old machine offering no real audio only comfort. Somewhere too, came screws jiggling inside old coffee tins and a saw moving along unused 2x4s, and I heard Dad sniff. I heard Dad sniff. Twice. I saw Mom’s big round wine barrels, the ones Dad cut width wise just for her, turned on end, filled with petunias, red and happy, waving hello. I heard the rustle of caragana pods on the bushes out front. I closed eyes and felt my ten speed near me, felt my friends running by and the pull of home base, capture the flag and the certainty of being 13. 

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