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August 27, 2011

Five seventeen in the morning I am
sixty years and two hours old.  The moon
hangs just above the eastern horizon a
thin white crescent in the still dark sky
the faint outline of its whole self just visible.
I am up and out with my two dogs early 
for the purpose of going aloft in a huge
balloon on this particular day.  But the moon
is magical and I wonder if my plan was
really somehow calculated so that I 
would take this walk with this
spectacular morning moon.

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