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My daughter and I are gawking at a mushroom that is small, shiny and gaudy purple.
As the captain scans the watery expanse for feeding birds, I am distracted by thoughts of Simon Peter.
The taste of the berries, each one a burst of sweetness, is an extravagance.
As the sun rises over the bay, I am alone with a boat and a boyish longing for adventure.
Warned by the bright orange cone, I look down at the jutting sidewalk and think, “There’s humor here.”