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Crash The church at Mountain Valley has collapsed. The roof has sunk, the steeple toppled to a pile of rubble. Windows show their teeth. The pulpit leans among the junk of lamps and broken vases, rotten songbooks, pews. The boards have weathered, paint has scaled away, and shingles charred to moss and dirt. From here it seems a timber airplane crashed, or pterodactyl made of planks cracked up. Across the valley on a hill the new church soars on dove-like wings into the blue. —Robert Morgan 86 ...

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