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Spring haze
Sasha Blaze
I live on the edge of the true prairie, what's left of it in this part of North America. This is grazing land--cattle and hay are big business. This week, there's a haze in the air and the scent of smoke hanging over town, because the ranchers are burning off their pastureland; the native grasses won't germinate or grow properly without the help of fire.

I came here after spending seven years in western Colorado, on the edge of the high desert. There, the air often filled with smoke in the summer, and it was frightening: that smoke meant wildfires, the kind that destroy houses and kill both animals and people.

Six years here, and I still have to stop and remind myself that this smoke means life, not death.

Meaning is always in context.

And now, for something completely different: keiki_boys, here are the Cheerydoll sandals on Sejong's feet.

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Ugh, I know what you mean! It's just a /little/ too far to be easy. ;o;

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