At least, Antonia tries to console herself, neither Izzy nor Sam are having to live through these broken times. But they are also missing the swallows, a large twittering flock darkening the evening sky as they flew off the roof of Roger’s barn yesterday; missing the early morning view outside her bedroom window, the mist dispelling, the far hills emerging, taking shape, having survived the night; missing the intricate spiderwebs on the barbed-wire fence, their dewed filaments jeweled with light; missing the brisk charge in the air as the wind sharpens, the maples turning red and gold, the
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