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Spring, 櫻花, black tea, and 410ppm. It’s warm enough to sew while walking and each hashmark per million is a prayer, a trap, an invitation. I am fearful of my own silence, apprehensive about my words; perhaps all I have is being as humans are and have been: in community, on foot, weaving and making and sharing and listening, telling stories. Why do we walk in circles when lost?

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