Proust

Creeks, the Atlanta Braves and Proust

Last week I went on a walk, and I felt practically lured into a creek. I first sat by it to enjoy the sun, think, pray, see what happened. The next thing I knew I was climbing around, busting up dams that had formed with winter’s leaves and branches, stepping on rocks, jumping around, and even feeling a little bit sorry for people rushing by in cars, not knowing that they too could stop and play (It’s really okay). And all at once,

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