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124 Ellen Notices the Dry Spring —Fairbanks, Alaska, May 1906 If God had a voice, the wasps would follow him, harmonizing. He made them, tuned their troubling buzz himself. Bees hoard, only to have us steal what they’ve stored; wasps take only what’s finished. 125 This dry spring, they chase me as I haul out the slop bucket, feast on thick water topped with sludge. While God, in his gray paper house, puts up his feet. He has no need of flesh nor honey. ...

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