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The DNA of time

The sun shone in an azure sky. While it was warm, fall was in the air. The season had stripped the few trees in the vast, 86-acre cemetery, part of Independence, KS’ park/cemetery/zoo complex. It was the kind of fall day we have all experienced, and the kind of day that will appear next year and the year after into eternity.

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Born to cry

When I was a kid, all through to the sixth grade, I cried all the time. Helplessness and frustration drove me to tears. The condition became critical enough that my teacher, Miss Milazzo, sent me in for a serious talk with the enigmatic and scary Franciscan priest named Father Francis, who always dressed in black monk habit.

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