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Those first green things, so timid in the light and so unafraid of frost, are the bravest souls I know. Before the trees unfurl their leaves they’re there, daring to bloom in the sunlight while it lasts. Before it’s hidden away. One glorious week or two of brilliant life until it fades away, happy, satisfied, willing to wait another year for its time in the sun to come ’round again. I wish I could be half so patient.

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