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sun and its subtraction of our shadows from the finite total of its given light. Today, the old green sprinkler sits dusty with the other tools on a shelf in my garage. It hasn’t spun in decades. It doesn’t need to. I look at it from time to time and see it still as one of the marvels of my universe, still twirling its silver faith into all the places I have ever walked.

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2017 Freshwater Literary Journal  

Professional literary journal produced at Asnuntuck Community College

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