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Late sunset, those last minutes when, filtered through a forest, the sun can be looked at as what the mystics might have called a dazzling darkness, the interplay when shadows are illumined and light is shaded.
Combined with silence, interrupted by our own footsteps and the friction of sleeve on winter jacket, those 40 minutes of walking at dusk are a form of invisible mending, frayed strands gathered back into the weft, and the garment of our days good to go, for another day.
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