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When I was a child, I would look for patches of bare ground this time of year, starting with big trees whose limbs kept winter snow from piling up close to their trunks. Then it would snow again, just as in life when we think things are in the clear.
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By Michael R. HathawayWhen I was a child, I would look for patches of bare ground this time of year, starting with big trees whose limbs kept winter snow from piling up close to their trunks. Then it would snow again, just as in life when we think things are in the clear.
Support the show