"Watch," Marissa says. She brings her small hand to her temple, then extends her arm. She tilts her head sideways, black curls falling against her neck, and stares at something I can't see. Finally she twists her fingers ever so slightly, and a window opens in the sky. It's a tiny window, the size of a hand mirror, and it looks like a photograph floating on the summer breeze. The window blots out part of a birch tree, but not the lake beyond. A floating miracle, adrift in a sea of air.
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June 14, 2012
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